


The Edge of Never

by TheCellarDoor



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dreams Of Past Lives, Fate & Destiny, Friends to Lovers, Harry is the new kid, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Pining, Reincarnation, Sixth Form/College AU, because, elements of magic, the past lives flashbacks will have violence and mentions of blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7947718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCellarDoor/pseuds/TheCellarDoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“It’s a curse,” Harry said, nodding. “To have everyone loving you. Must be awful.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>No. It was awful to sit here with shadows dancing over the soft edge of Harry’s cheeks, casting intimate patterns in the hollows under his eyes. To not be able to say that he was beautiful and that Louis wanted to lie down holding his hand until they counted all the stars in the sky. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He smiled anyway. “Yeah. It is. It’s tragic.”</i>
</p>
<p>Or a sixth form AU, in which Louis has dreams of past lives he doesn’t remember and the new kid at school feels too much like home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [The Edge of Never](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12128907) by [malishka1011](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malishka1011/pseuds/malishka1011)



> Hello, comrades, we meet again! Let us embark on a journey inspired by this goddamn beautiful quote:
> 
> _“I think if past lives are real then we have been lovers in every single one of them. I’ve known you for a short time, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”_  
>  J. A. Redmerski, The Edge of Never
> 
> I've had this in my folder for three years, I can't believe I'm finally going to actually finish this monster. Expect about 70k, rip. I'm planning on updating once a week.
> 
> In the words of one Louis Tomlinson, a massive, massive thank you to these precious humans who helped me edit this: jessimond and tomorrows, and an equally massive thank you to Maëlys for having read this like a hundred times by now, bless your beautiful faces!
> 
> I'll shut up now, hope you enjoy this 100% fictional piece of work (thumbs up for the disclaimer).

Cold lips touched the shell of his ear, knuckles brushing over his cheek. “Don’t go down to the basement.”

Louis startled awake.

He rubbed his hand down his face, headache blooming behind his temples. He was still wearing clothes from earlier, must have dozed off in the armchair, his music sheets scattered down by his feet. He was a mess.

A mess who had accidentally taken a nap at 9-bloody-pm.

His joints creaked as he pushed himself to his feet, his worn T-shirt and jeans sticking uncomfortably to his sleep-damp skin. Someone needed to tell his bones that he was eighteen, not eighty.

His phone kept going off, vibrating on top of his bed, so he padded over to silence it.

There was a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t seem to shake, following him as he dragged himself to the bathroom, eyelids like lead. He splashed tepid water over his face. It trickled down to his elbows and dripped onto the stark white tiles by his bare feet.

He breathed out through his mouth, steaming the mirror. 

‘Don’t,’ he wrote with his index finger, brows creasing.

After a pause, he erased it with a swipe of his hand and turned away, his mind fuzzy.

_Don’t what?_

Maybe he shouldn’t sleep at all, should bribe someone into smacking him upside the head every time he tried. He hadn’t slept well in nearly a year.

He fell face-first onto his bed, the dream long gone. He couldn’t ever remember. 

He felt more tired than he had before he’d fallen asleep, but his brain wouldn’t quiet down, restless as though he was missing something just out of his reach.

His phone went off again.

A text from Niall.

_‘You coming tomorrow?’_

Ah yes, the first day of the last year of college. Just one more year.

_‘I will,’_ Louis replied, rolling onto his back with his jean clad-legs bent at the knee, hoping he wouldn’t drop the phone down on his face. Wouldn’t be the first time. _‘Gotta hear all about your summer, don’t I? Since you fucked off to Spain and left me here all alone. :(’_

_‘You’re a right craic Lou! I’ve got loads to tell ya!’_

_‘Good lad!’_ he texted Niall back.

Niall and Liam had both left for the summer. Louis had received several texts from poor Liam whose parents had taken their entire family on a ‘therapeutic bonding trip’. 

Meanwhile he’d spent the whole summer either high on weed in his room among all those crumpled sheets of paper that went nowhere, or sitting on a bench in the park looking after his little sister Emmy while pretending he wasn’t cheating on Smurfs.

His life had clearly reached its pinnacle. It was all downhill from here.

He tossed his phone to the side and kicked off his jeans, cuddling into the duvet and falling back asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The dim glow of his lamp faded from orange to black behind his closed eyelids.

*****

The oil lamps had long burned to the bottom.

Shadows shifted over the walls as he stood at the top of the stairs, one hand gripping the wooden banister. He’d taken off his shoes, hated them with a passion because all he’d got were hand-me-downs that never fit him right, but Miss Carson always made him put them back on anyway.

The stairs creaked under his light, childlike feet as he stepped down. For a second he paused, his heart racing.

He knew he shouldn’t be wandering around the house so late at night but he couldn’t help it. He was restless and thirsty and his stomach was clenching with hunger.

He couldn’t believe he’d got sent into bed without dinner just because Miss Carson thought he’d convinced that new orphan to sit on the big anthill in front of the back porch.

He’d merely suggested it. How was he supposed to know the kid would just go off and do it? That they were no longer allowed to go outside at all?

Children were dumb. He knew because he was nine and smarter than everyone here. Once he was old enough, he’d find a way to save enough money to make something of himself. He’d have so much of it he’d have chicken pie for dinner every day simply because he could, and he’d move away somewhere where they didn’t know what a war meant.

He hopped off the last step and let go of the banister with his sweaty hand.

“If you misbehave again, I will have to send you away,” Miss Carson had said before she’d ordered him to go to bed. “You’re putting everyone here at risk by acting like this.”

He was so hungry.

He just couldn’t get caught, that was all.

It was dark but he knew these floorboards like the back of his hand and he knew just where to step to avoid the dodgy ones. The basement door was so close his mouth watered. Miss Carson always kept food down there locked, but Louis knew how to use a hairpin. He’d known how since he was five.

Just as he was reaching for the doorknob, almost dizzy at the thought of plums and apples behind the door, he heard the floorboards behind him whine under feet that weren’t his own.

He froze, his heart pounding in his throat.

Maybe it was too dark, maybe he hadn’t been spotted.

He slowly glanced over his shoulder and met a pair of glassy wide eyes across the sparse room, cheeks so pale they were nearly translucent under all that messy dark hair.

That kid, that stupid innocent boy that had sat down on the anthill just because Louis had suggested it. He must have followed Louis from the little, cluttered room upstairs where all the kids slept.

The boy wouldn’t survive a week in this place.

Louis held up his finger to his lips.

The boy looked as though he might start crying and Louis knew he had to act before the boy woke up the entire house. Louis couldn’t afford to be sent away. He just… couldn’t. He had nowhere else to go; his uncle had been taken to the train station with the rest.

Louis turned on his heel and took a few silent strides towards the boy, away from the promise of food. He had to press his palm against his concave stomach to muffle the growling sound.

“Stop,” Louis whispered, reaching out to grab the boy’s elbow.

The boy’s bottom lip quivered, heart-shaped lips parting on a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” the boy whispered and Louis forced himself to look away, to stop this feeling. That softness he felt for the boy. Nothing good ever came of it.

“You should be,” he said and pulled at the boy’s arm none too gently, dragging him towards the broom closet in case he decided to be loud and start crying. “You mess everything up. Why are you down here?”

The boy sniffed, wiped under his nose with the sleeve of his dirty linen shirt, but followed Louis into the closet without a word. Louis had been wrong. He wouldn’t survive two days.

The door snicked softly behind them, plunging them into darkness.

“Why are you awake?” Louis asked again, still not letting go. “It’s after curfew.”

“You’re awake too.”

“I’m older than you. You don’t question me, alright?”

He didn’t see the boy, could just feel the air stir as he nodded.

“Are you displeased with me?” the boy asked, fingers tugging at the bottom of Louis’ shirt. “I didn’t mean to get you into trouble with Miss Carson.”

“Why do you always talk so funny?”

“I don’t,” the boy paused. “I don’t know.”

He talked posh, like the people whose pockets Louis had used to pick as they wandered around the overpriced market. He looked so out of place Louis wanted to laugh. “You need to go back to bed.”

Then the boy did something Louis didn’t expect. He crashed into Louis, limbs like a vice around Louis’ body, his breath warm against Louis’ neck. Louis didn’t like to be touched. He _didn’t._

He stayed there, unmoving, breath knocked out of his body.

“Please don’t send me back. I’m scared, I feel so alone.”

“You don’t just,” Louis sputtered, arms clamped to his sides as the boy hugged him, “you can’t say that.”

“But it’s the truth.” His voice was quiet and frail, painful in its simple naiveté.

Louis blinked in the dark, fluffy hair tickling his chin and clenched jaw. “You just… don’t.”

“Please,” the boy said as though Louis hadn’t said anything at all. Or perhaps the boy didn’t care. “Please hold me.”

Louis felt his heart climb into his throat, eyes itching. It was dark. It was all right if no one could see him, wasn’t it? It was all right to wrap his arms around the boy for just a few seconds? Just for a little while, so he wouldn’t cry and give Louis away.

The boy slumped into him, clung to Louis like a lifeline. Louis wasn’t a lifeline. No matter what he liked to think, he was as lost as anyone in this place. He couldn’t afford to feel for anyone other than himself.

“You only care about yourself,” a ragged voice of an old woman suddenly whispered into his ear, the boy in his arms glitching out of focus. 

“You think you’re so clever, little boy, don’t you? You’re going to regret what you’ve just done.” Black eyes stared at him from across the glow of the orange flames. “This is just the beginning.”

*****

“Louis, Louis, Lou!”

The pounding on the door wouldn’t stop.

Louis stirred awake, threw his pillow uselessly at the door. It fell down somewhere on the floor, a meter away from the doorstep.

He felt like death, having been startled out of sleep three times during the night by a nightmare he couldn’t remember.

“Piss off, Emmy,” he mumbled into the mattress and squinted against the sunlight, unsettled and jittery.

What time was it?

“Lou! Get up!”

“I’m up!” he yelled, voice still ragged and hoarse from sleep. “Christ.”

His chest ached. He rubbed at it, but the feeling wouldn’t ease.

The door creaked open, an indignant little six-year-old staring at him from the door slit. “Are you still sleeping?”

She was wearing a bloody tutu. She’d clearly dressed herself again.

“No,” he said and dragged the duvet over his head, even though he knew hiding was useless.

“I want cereal, the mixy one you make,” Emmy said, the mattress dipping as she huffed and puffed and climbed onto the bed only to flop over the mound of his body hidden under the duvet. 

Even though he wanted to go back to sleep more than anything, having her close loosened the tight knot inside of him just the same. Made him feel a little bit less like he was living in a house full of ghosts.

By the time they came down to the kitchen, their father was already dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, ready to leave.

He eyed Louis’ wrinkled T-shirt and scuffed up duffle bag discarded by the kitchen counter with mild disinterest and handed Louis twenty quid.

“For lunch,” was all he said, eyes darting over Louis’ shoulder.

“Thanks,” Louis said, but his father was already walking away. He’d hardly looked Louis in the eye.

When Louis buckled Emmy into the car with their chauffeur Don behind the wheel, she clung to his hand just a little bit longer than usual.

“Be good,” he told her, bopping her nose. “As good as I would be.”

“I will,” she said somberly, clutching the _Tangled_ backpack too big for her body closer to her chest.

“You sure you don’t want me to drop you off too?” Don asked, his bald head shiny in the early morning light, a toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth. His smile was kind.

“Nah, I’m fine. I’m taking my bike. But thanks.” Louis tapped the roof of the car and stepped away. “Go on then, don’t make her late.”

Don rolled his eyes good-naturedly and shouted, “Be careful,” as he pulled out of the driveway.

Louis watched Emmy wave at him until the car disappeared from sight before he went to grab his bike. 

He made it to the school parking lot with a couple minutes to spare and was just locking his bike in place when a familiar voice called out his name.

He got just enough of a warning to brace himself against stumbling over the curb when Niall bounded towards him and nearly knocked him over with the force of his hug. 

“How are you?” Niall asked, squeezing Louis incredibly tight.

“Having trouble breathing, frankly,” he wheezed out. 

With one final squeeze, Niall let go with a manlier punch to Louis’ shoulder, adjusting his snapback as though they hadn’t just shared a very emotional moment.

“You look good. More tan than I expected. Still not as tan as I am,” Niall said, sly as always. “Your hair’s a proper mess.”

Louis slapped an insistent hand away from his hair, mostly because Niall’s fingers smelled like chili dip and Doritos. “Prick. It’s called artfully tousled. Look it up,” Louis bit back, reeling the fondness in as much as he could, which probably wasn’t much at all. “I’ve missed you.”

“’Course you did, mate. I’m very missable.”

“Oh, shut up,” Louis said as they made their way towards the school entrance. He really had missed him. “Have you seen Liam?”

“What, am I not enough for you anymore?” Niall asked. “I reckon he’s at the library already. Fucking horrible.”

Louis laughed because Niall was probably right. And it wasn’t that Liam was a straight-A student. Far from it. He was just really hard working and stubborn as a mule, with a crush on someone who did science for _fun_. 

“You do realise we’ll have to do something about him this year, don’t you?” Louis asked.

“Yeah. He’s wound way too tight.”

The classes dragged, seemingly more than they had before the summer. Maybe because he knew he only had one more year until he could leave this place. Maybe because he’d rather have stayed at home, writing music for a piano he hadn’t touched in a year. One of these days, he told himself.

It was hard to resist the urge to bounce his leg, to stop chewing the end of his pencil as the teacher’s voice droned on and on.

He almost missed the knock on the door, would have, had it not been for the sudden lull of silence as the teacher paused mid-sentence.

“Come in,” the teacher called out and a gangly boy walked in, closing the door behind him, a slip of paper clutched in his hand.

Louis may or may not have had a fleeting thought of kissing the boy’s wide set knuckles. He stomped down on the thought and swallowed hard as the boy smiled at the teacher with a dimple in his left cheek and held out the paper to her.

He wasn’t _that pretty_. Really quite ordinary. So when the rest of the class took the distraction as a means to start chatting in increasingly less hushed voices, Louis didn’t quite understand why he kept staring. 

He had dark hair that curled around his ears and feet that dragged a little as he walked, as though too big for his body. Everything seemed too big for his body, actually. His feet and hands and broad shoulders and the features of his face, and yet. Somehow it all fit together seamlessly.

The boy squinted a bit as the sunlight hit his face through the slits in the window, Adam’s apple bobbing as he said something too quietly for Louis to hear. 

Louis shifted in his seat, guilty. _Stop staring._

The teacher clapped her hands together and Louis’ head filled with sound again. He knew he’d been looking too long, too intently, and dropped his gaze, focused on the lewd doodle of a dick bouquet on his desk instead. It was one of his better artistic ventures. 

He wondered how long it’d take for the teacher to find it and give him detention for it. He probably spent more time with Mr. Riley than Mr. Riley’s wife did.

The sound of the chair in front of him scraping across the floor startled him, drew his attention back up. Of course the boy would have sat in front of Louis even though there was another empty chair in the very back. Of-bloody-course. 

He stared at the back of the boy’s head, the curls catching the light from the windows, the way his back muscles shifted under the worn cotton of his white T-shirt as he bent over to rummage through his bag then straightened back up.

When the boy suddenly twisted around in his seat and met Louis’ gaze, he briefly panicked. Only the boy didn’t seem too bothered that he caught Louis already looking.

“Hi,” he said with a crooked smile, fingers comfortably splaying over Louis’ desk as though it was nothing.

The very casual, “what’s up” froze on the tip of Louis’ tongue.

“I, um… I was wondering if you had a spare pen I could borrow? Because like, I could have sworn I took one but as it turns out, I didn’t. So… yeah.”

If this were Liam, Louis would have teased him relentlessly.

He scrambled to make his brain work so he wouldn’t blurt out anything stupid, like _your eyes are really green_ or _can I touch your mouth?_

Louis didn’t want to touch his mouth. It was too soft. Too pink and plush. He wanted nothing to do with it.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Louis finally managed to say, ignoring the way his heartbeat sped up. And then he was picking up the pen on his desk, handing it over to the new kid, hoping he wouldn’t notice how unsteady Louis’ hands got when their fingers brushed. “Here.”

“Cheers,” the boy drawled out, a genuine, disarming smile on his face, a smile that Louis was convinced he’d been perfecting for years just to stun people speechless. Louis vowed the next time he’d be prepared. Next time he wouldn’t be affected at all.

He nodded, tongue-tied, and looked away.

He tried to shake that sense of strange familiarity he felt, as though he knew this boy. As though they’d already talked.

_Get yourself together._

And now he didn’t have a pen because he’d just given his only one to the boy sitting in front of him, the boy unaware of Louis’ inner turmoil and pointlessly sweaty palms.

*****

“You all right?” Liam asked during lunch break, brows pulled together as he watched Louis the way he always did when he thought something was wrong. Something for him to fix.

“Why wouldn’t he be? Seems fine to me,” Niall said, one shoulder bouncing up in a shrug as he stuffed his face full of a bacon sandwich. 

Niall had always been Louis’ favourite.

“Like Niall says. I’m fine. Just haven’t slept very well.” 

It took some effort to smile, but Louis was nothing if not determined. He _was_ fine. Surviving on about four hours of uninterrupted sleep a day for over a year wasn’t taking a toll on him at all. It wasn’t anyone’s problem but his own. He could deal with it.

Liam frowned, not convinced. “Lou—”

“I’m fine, alright?” Louis smiled, more genuinely this time, and Liam dug into his food with a resigned sigh. “Don’t worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles. I mean, even _more_ of them. That’s just tragic.”

Niall slurped Coke out of the can and said, “Now that you’re done being deep, Perrie is throwing a party this weekend. Think you two can make it?”

“Think so, yeah,” Louis said, more than happy about the change of topic. “Already texted her I’d come.”

“Figured she would text you first.” Niall grinned, and he didn’t even have to say it out loud for Louis to _know_. “Since you’re such good pals and all.”

“We’re just friends now. You know that,” Louis said, looking away because the teasing implication behind Niall’s words was more than obvious. Perrie had never been anything but his friend, but Niall didn’t know. Nobody did, and Louis never really cared to explain.

“If you say so.” Niall slumped back in his chair. “So, you’ll come?”

“Yeah, I’m free to party. Dad will be gone on a business trip by then, so you know… when the old cat’s away…” It didn’t matter anyway. His dad wouldn’t have cared either way. Which, in this case, was a very good thing.

Niall turned to Liam. “You’re going.” It wasn’t a question.

“But—”

“Sorry, it’s already been decided.” Niall said, shrugging as if it was a done deal. It was. 

“Come on, live a little. It’s on Friday anyway,” Louis pointed out, siding with Niall. 

“He’s right,” Niall said. “What’s the harm? We’ll cover for you with your parents.”

“This is peer pressure,” Liam protested, even though the corners of his lips were already tipping into a smile.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We promise,” Louis said, reaching out to pat Liam on the forearm. “I’ll stick with you for the entire night if you want. We’ll have beer and I’ll help you chat up some lovely ladies. What do you say?”

“Will Sophia be there?” Liam’s ears were turning red. Niall laughed loudly and unabashedly, the sound of it contagious.

“I heard she might be,” Louis said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Oh. Okay. Good. I mean, I don’t care—”

“Oh, shut up, mate. You’ve got a big fat crush on her. We know.” Niall grinned.

Liam looked about ready to dig a hole and crawl right into it. “Could you say that _any_ louder?”

Louis slapped his palm right over Niall’s mouth as he opened it to do just that. “Do you really want to find out?”

Niall pushed Louis’ hand away, eyes trained on something in the distance. “Hey, is that the new kid? What was his name again?”

“Eh… Harry, was it?” Liam said, glancing over his shoulder, both of them completely oblivious to the way Louis’ heart picked up in speed. “He seems a little lost.”

“Yeah, maybe we should say hi,” Niall said. “Hey, Harry! Come here, mate!”

For a second, Louis considered throwing his can of Coke at Niall’s head. As Harry approached them with that smile that made Louis’ knees weak even though he was sitting, he started to think maybe skipping today would have been a better idea. 

“Hey,” sounded a deep, gravelly voice that gripped something visceral inside Louis and yanked hard. 

Louis still didn’t look up, trying to gather himself and stop acting like such a knobhead around this boy. It wasn’t like him. 

He distantly realised Niall and Liam had introduced themselves and there was a moment of expectant silence that stirred him into motion. Louis looked up to see them all focused on him, as if he was a rare exhibit at the zoo. 

He almost choked on the bit of the sandwich he’d just shoved into his mouth to keep himself occupied.

“Harry, this is Louis. He might not look it, but he does know how to speak,” Niall said, slapping Louis hard on the shoulder.

“Shut up, Niall,” he said and smiled. “I’m Louis.” Well, obviously. Niall had already said that. 

Louis’ cheeks burned, but he stuck out his hand in greeting nonetheless.

“Nice to meet you. Again,” Harry said and shook Louis’ hand, brows furrowing a little. 

He had massive hands, with long gentle fingers that wrapped around Louis’ as if they belonged there, soft palm a strangely familiar pressure against his own. 

Louis had to shake off a sense of déjà vu, this curious little twinge in his gut telling him he’d held his hand before. 

He had to force himself to let go. 

“Thanks for lending me the pen. Promise I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”

“You should. It’s a family heirloom. My entire future wealth depends on getting it back,” Louis said seriously. His heart stuttered in the space between the last word and the moment Harry grinned. 

“I’d say the chew marks add some extra value, right?”

“Obviously,” Louis said, the corner of his mouth twitching. He bit it back, because no. He wouldn’t be this easily charmed. He wouldn’t be charmed, period.

His pulse refused to settle.

“Sit down,” Liam offered, dragging the empty chair next to him away from the table.

“Thank you. Didn’t expect to meet so many nice people on my first day.” 

When Harry dropped his tray on the table, shouldered off the bag and sat at the edge of the plastic chair, Louis had to drag his eyes away from him, from the way his heart-shaped lips curled around each word so carefully.

“A friend of ours is throwing a party this Friday. You should come. Get to know more people, have fun,” Niall said and Louis didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss him or punch him. It was becoming a habit.

“Are you all going?” Harry asked, the dimples in his cheeks making a devastating comeback, his posture relaxing just the tiniest bit. 

He was turning to Louis.

Louis nodded, his mouth a little dry. “It’s usually fun. Nothing too wild. Just a bit of beer. A bit of dancing.”

“I hate dancing,” Liam muttered and shot them a dirty look, as though blaming them for this entire thing. Which, yeah, fair enough.

“That’s because you hate fun,” Louis said.

“He really does,” Niall agreed. “But we love him anyway.”

Liam snorted and kicked Louis under the table. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Oh, sorry. I was aiming for Niall.”

“Christ,” Louis complained, scowling at Liam who didn’t look all that contrite. “I keep getting hit today.”

“Hit _on_ , you mean.” Niall jerked his head to the side, obviously trying to signal Louis something with his eyes, but failing miserably. He gave up with a sigh and elaborated, “Janie over there has been giving you the eyes for the past few minutes.”

He hadn’t noticed. Probably because he’d been too busy trying not to eye the boy sitting across from him.

“She’s pretty,” Harry said, eyes on her, Louis’ heart sinking. 

There was no reason for him to feel anything. He was just a little off.

“Yeah,” he said, hands fiddling with the napkin in his lap, shredding it, out of sight. “I think I had some classes with her last year. She’s all right.”

“So? Get on it! Literally!” Niall chewed the last of his sandwich, rather loudly and obnoxiously, looking at Louis with a perplexed expression.

“She’s not bloody cattle, Niall.” He pinched Niall’s side until he twisted away. “If she’s at the party, I might have a chat with her.” 

There. Not a lie, exactly. Even though he already knew he wasn’t interested at all.

Liam hadn’t said anything and when his eyes met Louis’, he noticed Liam’s focus was solely on him. It made Louis feel as though he was transparent and Liam could read all the thoughts running through his head. Sometimes he wondered if Liam knew, but he never confronted Louis, and he was glad. 

He didn’t want to talk about it.

*****

“I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”

Louis was trapped in an honest to god lovers’ quarrel. 

Usually he’d be inconspicuously trying to goad both of them into revealing each other’s deepest, darkest secrets in public, and yet… Here he was, trying his best not to think about the way his palm had tingled when Harry had shaken his hand yesterday.

“I wouldn’t have said you cried during _Lion King_ if you hadn’t told everyone I pooped my pants in Year Nine!” Liam said, a bit more loudly than was required. 

A few people turned their heads as they walked into the cafeteria.

“It was sad when Mufasa died, okay? So, fuck you. Right, Lou?”

“Huh?” 

“Lion King? Sad? Fuck Liam for being a snitch?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, definitely. Fuck you, Liam.” He glanced around the cafeteria for no particular reason. None whatsoever.

Harry already stood in the line, loading food onto his tray. He was all awkward limbs and pigeon toes, hunching his shoulders as though he wanted to take up as little space as humanly possible. 

Louis couldn’t overlook him if he tried. And wasn’t that bloody tragic?

“Do you mind if I ask Harry to sit with us again?” slipped out of his mouth before his brain could properly process that thought.

“Sure,” Niall said. “I like him.”

“I don’t mind either,” Liam said, eyes flitting between Louis and Harry.

“Okay. Good,” Louis said, and why the hell did this feel so awkward? He was Louis Tomlinson. He didn’t do awkward. “Good.”

“Go on then,” Niall said with a quirked eyebrow.

“Right. Save us a seat, would you?”

“Obviously, you nut.”

Approaching Harry was nerve wracking and he had to stick his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep from fidgeting. He didn’t know what to say, why he was even standing there in the first place.

He was just about to open his mouth when Harry turned swiftly around, and Louis hadn’t realised how close he’d been standing until Harry smacked his tray into Louis’ belly and almost upended his food on the floor.

“Oh no, fuck! I’m sorry,” Louis said, his hands shooting out to steady Harry and his food tray, his cheeks burning. God, what was wrong with him? This wasn’t like him at all. 

He felt winded, and it was only partly from the impact.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice—”

“The last time I checked, you didn’t have eyes on the back of your head.” And he was holding Harry’s wrist. When had that happened? “I mean, I guess I don’t really know what you might be hiding under all those curls.”

He needed to stop talking. About Harry’s curls and in general. 

Harry chuckled, easy and charming and Louis wanted to crawl away and never, ever face Harry again.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said again, dropping his hands, skin tingling where it had touched Harry’s. “Come sit with us?”

“You can’t sit with us,” Harry mumbled under his breath, but Louis caught it. It startled a laugh out of him, shrill enough to make him a little embarrassed. 

“Did you just quote _Mean Girls_ at me?”

Harry dimpled. Louis needed him to cover his face. And not say anything. Just… Remove his entire being from Louis’ vicinity. 

“Did you just recognise a _Mean Girls_ quote?”

“It’s a classic,” Louis protested.

“I mean,” Harry drawled, smiling again. Louis should look away. He fucking couldn’t. “Yeah. That would be nice though. The sitting with you thing.”

This was so lame. They were lame. Louis was the lamest.

“All right. Cool.” He ducked his face and tried to convince himself his pounding heart didn’t mean anything.

*****

Harry sat with them again the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that too. When Louis learned that Harry was a tactile sort of person, he started considering booking the first flight to South Africa, away from Harry’s constant touches that made a flush creep up the back of Louis’ neck.

It was just… Whenever fingertips would graze his wrist or Harry’s thigh would bump and press against his beneath the table, he kind of wanted to drop his face into the plate of mashed potatoes on the tray in front of him, _don’t fuck this up_ on repeat in his head.

Harry was becoming a friend. And that was great. Amazing, even. Louis didn’t want to ruin it.

“Oi, Louis.” The sound of his name startled Louis out of his thoughts. “Remember that time you lost a bet and had to ring the doorbell of that really old lady in your neighbourhood with only a carrot to cover your willy?”

Liam glanced between the two of them. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that ever again.”

Louis groaned. 

It had been traumatic for everyone involved. And by everyone, Louis meant himself and the carrot. His elderly neighbour Miss Ellington had been nothing short of delighted.

“Did it even cover it?” Harry asked, voice warm with undercurrents of laughter and Louis couldn’t even be mad. He tried, but he physically _couldn’t_. Not when Harry slung his arm around Louis’ shoulders and drew him against his side, and Louis felt like he couldn’t pull himself away from Harry’s gravity even if he tried.

“Fuck off, all of you,” Louis said. “She hit on me. It was as if she was bad touching me with her eyes.”

“She looked quite good for her age,” Niall said, grinning like the kinky shit he was. “You could have gotten yourself a sugar mommy.”

“Why are we still mates?” Liam asked as Louis kicked Niall’s shin. “You’ve reached a whole new level of low.”

“Just saying. You probably would have only ended up rubbing her feet or reading to her or something.” Niall grabbed a fistful of gummy bears and brandished them in the air. “Not that you need a sugar mommy.” He turned to Harry. “You should see his house. It’s massive.” 

Louis didn’t say that he’d trade it all for a cramped apartment cluttered with mementos and snapshots hanging on the walls. 

“’S a good thing he’s not a snob, at least,” Niall added.

“Thanks,” Louis said dryly. “At least I’m not Irish.”

“Hey! Ireland’s the best fucking country in the world, you English cunt.” Niall flicked a red gummy bear right at Louis. It hit his chin and fell into his lap. He picked it up and ate it. No need to waste a perfectly good gummy bear.

The conversation went on, with Liam desperately trying to steer it into less nude waters, so of course Louis decided he’d tease Niall about the time he’d ripped the seat of his jeans on the fence while jumping over it drunk off his arse. He would have, but then fingertips tickled his wrist. 

His gaze dropped, the boys’ voices fading into background noise as his world narrowed down to Harry’s touch on his skin. It was simple, really, nothing that that should have warranted _this_ , whatever _this_ was. 

All Harry did was play with the string bracelets on Louis’ wrist, tracing each and every one; a leather braided one and one with silly pink plastic gems that Emmy had made for him. It shouldn’t feel like anything.

“Nice. Very manly,” Harry commented quietly, the tips of his fingers fitting between bracelet and skin.

“My sister Emmy gave it to me.” Louis’ voice matched Harry’s in volume because he felt out of control, reckless and terrified and feeling things that kept throwing him off balance.

“How old is she?” Harry’s skin was so hot it felt as if Louis’ would catch on fire.

“Six. Currently big on making jewellery and emotionally blackmailing me into helping her.”

“I know what that’s like. I’ve got a sister too. Gemma. A couple years older than me. Used to dress me in her clothes when I was little and always threatens to post the pictures. She doesn’t live with me and Mum anymore though. Went off to a uni in L.A.,” Harry explained, the corners of his smiling mouth slumping. “I miss her.” 

Harry fell silent for a bit, lost inside himself. “I’ve always wanted to have a younger sibling as well. Or maybe even two. Sounds fun.”

“Not when she wants to play hairdresser and not-so-accidentally puts gum in your hair.” Louis swallowed hard and glanced up to find Harry already looking at him with the kind of focus that made Louis want to run. “It’s just you and your mum then?”

A shrug. “Been that way for a long time now.” 

Harry’s fingers slid from beneath the bracelet and it really shouldn’t have made Louis bite his tongue to keep the protest in check, but it did. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked, maybe Harry’s family life was a sore subject. Off limits. God knew Louis’ was.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t hav—”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

And he looked it. There was a hint of dimples in his cheeks, his fingertips now tracing the valleys between Louis’ knuckles.

When his touch was gone and the outside world came rushing back, Louis noticed Niall was gone and Liam was standing up, picking his bag off the ground.

“Where’s Niall?”

“He’s just left. Saw someone he wanted to talk to,” Liam said, shouldering his bag. 

“Where are you going?”

“Uhh… library. Got to pick up a few books.”

At any other time Louis would have made a joke about that and said Liam should just ask Sophia out without all the subterfuge, but Liam was looking at him strangely, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say, as if he couldn’t wait to get going, so Louis only nodded and watched him go.

Had he screwed up?

Harry touched his shoulder. “We can walk to class together. If you want.”

Maybe he had, but it was too late now and saying “no” was not an option. He couldn’t seem to refuse Harry. Then again, he wasn’t even trying to. 

“Lead the way then.”

Harry’s arm stayed wrapped around Louis’ shoulders all the way to the classroom, and for a moment he wondered what it would have felt like to hold Harry’s hand. 

And then Louis realised what he was doing and slid from underneath Harry’s arm.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Niall is a little shit who cries during Lion King, Liam is too concerned and pretends to read books and Louis has dreams of past lives he doesn't remember and he definitely isn't crushing hard on the new kid at school.

“I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, it’s not real—”

He was, too. He had to be.

Louis spun on his heel and pressed his palm over the older girl’s mouth, cold sweat beading at the back of his neck. “Shut up. Shut the f—”

“Don’t,” the boy’s small fingers wrapped around Louis’ elbow, gently drew his arm away. Louis’ palm was hot with the girl’s panicked breath, his own wheezing, soft and shallow past his chapped lips. “We have to hurry.” 

The pressure of those fingers was so familiar it should have made everything better. Instead it made Louis sick with nerves. There was nowhere for them to hide.

Miss Carson was already hurrying down the basement stairs with a small herd of children in front of her, dirty skirts swishing around her bony ankles.

“Please, we have to hurry,” Louis heard again, met those big, scared eyes.

“We’re going to be all right,” he promised, even as he heard the pounding on the front door as the German soldiers tried to barge their way in. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t let them take you.”

Their fingers met and tangled, cold and clammy with nervous sweat. Together they raced to catch up to Miss Carson, the basement door banging shut behind them just as the front door splintered open, and heavy, booted footsteps pounded in, followed by a metallic clank of weapons.

Louis felt his heart in his throat as they flew down the stairs and made it just in time for Miss Carson to help them down to the hole carved out beneath the wooden slats of the trapdoor.

It covered them in darkness just as someone kicked the door to the basement open. Louis could barely hear the angry yells past the heartbeat in his ears. Sweat dripped down his temples and spine, sticking his shirt to his skin, his fingers crushed in a too tight hold. He squeezed right back.

Miss Carson screamed.

There was a heavy thud of a body meeting the floor and then a shadow. The creak of heavy footsteps landing over the trapdoor.

They all held their breath, dust mites and damp dirt clinging to Louis’ lashes.

Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to let go. He’d made a promise.

Then, like a gunshot in the deafening silence, one of the kids to his right sneezed.

All the motion above ceased and in that moment, Louis knew. It was over.

The trapdoor flew open and everyone screamed, fighting to get out, fleeing right into the trap of the soldiers’ arms. Louis clamped his arms around the boy tucked against his side when they tried to tear him away.

“No, let him go!” He bit the soldier’s forearm until he howled. Louis kicked and screamed but in the end, it didn’t matter. He was too weak, too small.

A sudden shock of pain to his head made him loosen his hold, his vision blacking out.

He felt himself lifted out of the hole, their hands separated.

He opened his eyes just in time to see them backhand the boy he’d promised to protect. A drop of his blood landed on Louis’ skin, the same kind of bright red that was welling on Louis’ boy’s lip.

Louis had promised him.

He already knew he’d failed.

*****

Louis rolled onto his side in the bed, the moon hanging low in the sky. His clock read 4:30am and his hand hurt as though he’d been sleeping on it.

He felt the same sense of urgency as he buried his face in the pillow as he did every time he’d wake up at the ass crack of dawn with a pounding heart. As though he was supposed to be elsewhere. Just… not here. 

His skin felt too tight for his body.

He kicked off the duvet, and not for the first time he wished he had someone to turn to who would make him feel better. Who would tell him everything was going to be all right.

Instead he curled into a ball and hugged a pillow to his chest, falling back into uneasy sleep.

*****

“I had a dream about Nemo last night,” Emmy said, slumped against his side on the living room sofa.

“Hm,” Louis said, his mind blank. He couldn’t remember any of the dreams he knew he must have had. “Could be because you’ve watched it about a hundred times.”

“It’s worth watching,” she said seriously. Louis had no argument to make.

“I shouldn’t be letting you stay up late anyway, you know. I’m too soft on you. You should be in bed.”

“But you’re awake too,” Emmy said. “I’m not tired. And I can’t draw because my light doesn’t work.”

“Christ, are you throwing those light bulbs out the window, love? I changed them last week.”

“Shh, stop talking,” she nudged him, frowning. “This is the important bit.”

Well, that was pretty bloody offensive, in his opinion. “You’re the one who started talk—”

She pinched his side. “Shush.”

Louis frowned down at her even though she wasn’t paying him the least bit of attention anymore. Kids these days.

For a minute he wondered whether he felt like going to Perrie’s party at all. It meant getting up and getting ready, as in taking a shower and putting on _shoes_. All very daunting tasks.

He’d already promised though.

It took Emmy about twenty more minutes until she started sagging against his side, her grip on his T-shirt falling slack.

“You should go to bed,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Emmy shifted closer, shaking her head. “I have to see the ending.”

“You already know how it ends.”

“You’re too old to understand.” She blinked lazily, barely keeping her eyes open and he couldn’t help but lean down to kiss the top of her head. 

“Oh, sorry,” he said, grinning. “I’ll try not to be old and boring then.”

“Good. Now shush.”

What a bossy little thing she was. Louis loved her. 

It was hard not to miss Mum when it was just the two of them like this, hard not to doubt if what he was doing was enough. If he was enough.

Emmy’s hair was soft as he carded his fingers through it.

Sometimes Louis thought she was taking it better than he was.

A tug on his T-shirt pulled him out of his thoughts, made him take a shaky breath.

“Lou? Are you all right?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, concerned. Louis needed to pull it together.

“I’m fine, bug. Good old Nemo always gets to me, you know.” He tried to smile. 

The credits rolled down the screen. He’d missed the grand finale. “Come on then, I’ll take you up.”

She wrapped her limbs around him like a monkey, her head resting in the crook of his neck, wordlessly ordering him to carry her.

“I’m sleepy,” she mumbled as he climbed up the stairs, careful not to trip with the TV as his only source of light. “You don’t have to read to me tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know what I want.”

“Don’t doubt that for a second.”

By the time he tucked her in she was already halfway to dreamland, yet she dredged up enough energy to tell him she loved him.

“Love you too. Sleep tight.” He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead and quietly slipped out of the room to get ready for the party and wait for the nanny to come mind her while he was out.

*****

The party was exactly like Perrie always threw it. Loud music, a lot of people, red cups sloshing over with cheap booze.

Just how Louis liked it.

He spotted Niall the minute he walked inside the house, the centre of attention with his contagious laugh and charm that drew people close, a cup already in his hand. Just as Louis went on to say hi, his gaze lifted and caught Harry’s from across the room. 

The music suddenly didn’t seem so loud. 

He’d rather not prod at the reason why.

He stuck his hands into the pockets of his too tight jeans, bumping into people as he changed his direction because he couldn’t drop Harry’s gaze long enough to watch where he was going. Couldn’t help but take it all in. The dimples. The springy curls. The way the neckline of Harry’s simple white T-shirt dipped low enough to allow Louis a glimpse of his collarbones, the hollow of his throat. 

How warm he looked when he smiled like that.

Louis should stop thinking about what it would feel like to press his lips to the dimple by the corner of Harry’s mouth. 

“Lou!” Harry’s arms wrapped him up in a tight embrace, no holds barred. He’d probably already had a drink or two. Louis should get one too. Maybe then he’d stop noticing how soft the fabric of Harry’s T-shirt felt under his palms, how Harry smelled like a half-forgotten memory.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.” Harry was slightly taller than him, though his slouched posture often made Louis feel as though they were the same height. His lips brushed the shell of Louis’ ear as he spoke, and for a second Louis felt dizzy. As if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. 

Too many people around and just… just that.

“I’d say I was going for fashionably late, but I had to wait for a nanny,” he heard himself answering, proud that he didn’t sound the way he felt. So out of control.

“For Emmy, right?” Harry loosened his hold and pulled away. It was boiling in here and Harry’s warmth had seeped into Louis’ skin and clung. The last thing he should have wanted was to have Harry’s arms back around him. And yet.

“You remembered,” Louis said, stupidly pleased by it.

“Of course I did.” Harry said, serious, a springy curl by his ear sticking out in a way that made Louis’ fingers itch to fix it.

Their eye contact broke the second a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him.

“Louis! I’ve been looking for you,” Perrie said, drawing him into an embrace. The smell of weed clung to her blond, shoulder-length hair. It was a familiar comfort. “Haven’t seen you in ages. I have so much to tell you.”

By the time he stepped away and glanced over his shoulder, Harry was no longer there.

*****

Louis wasn’t looking for him. He was not. He was just another casual party-goer, already having downed one too many but not nearly enough to admit to himself he was bloody pining.

After he’d caught up with Perrie, during which she’d eyed him skeptically and asked if he was crushing on someone, and he’d promptly insulted her grandma dress, she’d just laughed and shoved a drink in his hand. So. Definitely not his fault he was tipsy.

The dim lights made it hard to see, people stumbling into him as he searched for a familiar face. He skirted around to the edge of the crowd to navigate more easily and made it to the kitchen. 

The floor was sticky with spilt alcohol and a booming sound of applause exploded from the people playing an enthusiastic round of beer pong. Maybe Louis should have stopped by to cheer for Niall who was drunkenly failing to win or made sure Liam wasn’t vomiting somewhere in the bushes, but. He didn’t.

He walked out. 

Chilly night breeze hit his overheated face, and it was nice. A bit lonely, but it beat watching all the couples inside going at it. Surprisingly enough, Liam included, the last time Louis had seen him.

The night was lit up with the little lanterns hung around the garden, the little strings of lights strung around the hexagonal room of the gazebo. He remembered spending a lot of nights sitting there with Perrie by his side back when they’d still been classmates, sometimes in complete silence.

He finished the last of his beer and scrunched the cup in his hand as he walked past a high, carefully trimmed hedge to emerge near the gazebo. 

If it weren’t for the tiny yellow lights, he wouldn’t have seen it at all. He _wished_ he hadn’t. Wished his bloody feet would get unstuck so he could walk away and pretend it had never happened.

“Mmm… you’re good at this.”

They didn’t see him, not when he was hidden in the shadows like this, uselessly standing on the fringe, looking in. 

Their lips met again and again in a wet tangle, the nameless girl’s hand running through Harry’s curls as if she owned him, his eyes tightly closed, fingers resting on her waist lightly as if unsure if he should touch more firmly. 

There wasn’t an inch of space between them and Louis felt as if someone had just dumped a handful of ice behind his collar.

What kind of friend was he? He should be happy, cheering Harry on. He shouldn’t be this... this _disappointed_. 

His hands trembled as he tried to rub the ache off his chest, tried to take a deep breath and get away before they noticed him. Before Harry found Louis watching them like a creep. 

He backed away, stepping right on the plastic cup he must have dropped.

It couldn’t have been louder if he tried.

They parted, two pairs of eyes snapping to him in sync. 

“Sorry! I didn’t… didn’t mean to. I’ll just—”

“Louis?”

Her hands were still wrapped around Harry’s neck, fingernails painted candy pink. Louis couldn’t look away. Why the fuck did it make him feel like this? Why did he want to push her hands away and wipe her lipstick off Harry’s mouth? 

_You know why._

“Are you all right?”

He shook himself, arms folding around his middle. He felt like he was going to be sick. “Sorry.”

He dropped his gaze to the ground, tried to focus on nothing but the worn off tips of his sneakers as he strode away.

“Louis. Louis, wait!”

He couldn’t face Harry right now, not with alcohol in his system and his mind repeating _I want to be the one kissing him_ , no matter how hard he tried to shake it. 

Harry’s hand landed on his shoulder, halting him. “Did something happen? Are you all right?”

Besides the heavy feeling of defeat pulling at his limbs? Nothing much. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You look like—”

“Like what?” Louis asked, finally meeting Harry’s eyes, scared Harry would see right through him.

Harry’s hair was tussled; his lips red and swollen from kissing her and Louis wanted to feel nothing. “Are you feeling sick? You look a bit pale.”

“Don’t worry about me. I just… I just drank a bit too much. I’ll be fine. You can go back to—”

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Harry said, voice firm and low, his hand fluttering down to Louis’ elbow as if to steady him. “We’re friends… aren’t we?”

Louis swallowed back the lump in his throat, his voice a whisper. “Yeah, we are.”

He didn’t know he could feel any worse until Harry hugged him, a too sweet scent of artificial roses layered over his own. It wasn’t right.

“Where’s Perrie? I thought you were with her.”

“Don’t know. She’s living it up somewhere, she always is.”

Harry let go of him, chilly air breathing through the space between them. “Let me just,” Harry’s gaze flitted over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a second, yeah? Don’t leave.”

As Harry left his side, Louis fought the compulsion to grab him by the hand and not let go. 

Harry was talking to her now, their murmured voices a tangle Louis didn’t bother to unmake, his back to them. For a second he considered leaving, but then Harry’s shoulder brushed against his, and even though he craved some distance, his body wouldn’t listen.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

The last thing he wanted to do was talk about it, but there was a part of him that urged him onward, that was starving for the morbid kind of pleasure of being hurt.

“It’s fine, Lou. It wasn’t even… just seemed like a good idea at the time. It didn—”

“She was pretty,” Louis heard himself say, as if the voice didn’t even belong to him. He still didn’t look at Harry. “What’s her name?”

“Umm… Katie?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry fiddle with his phone. “She gave me her number, but… I don’t know if I’ll call her.”

He felt Harry staring at him, waiting for a reply. “Why not?”

“I don’t think… I’m not sure I want to. And I just, I don’t know.”

He didn’t look as though he expected Louis to reply, so they lapsed into silence for a while, arms grazing.

“I feel like I want to tell you everything,” Harry said, and Louis wanted to say he’d keep Harry’s every secret and hide it deep inside his chest where no one could ever find it, but he didn’t. They hadn’t known each other that long. “Maybe I shouldn’t want to.”

“You can,” Louis said instead, his tone low. Sincere. “Always been good at keeping secrets.”

Maybe too good.

Harry’s long fingers locked around Louis’ wrist. He looked down, Harry’s skin pale against his as he pulled Louis over to the gazebo to sit them down on the wooden bench inside. “Do you mind if we sit here for a bit?” 

His touch lingered for a few more seconds and Louis gathered enough courage to meet his eyes. He felt as if they were the only people left in the world, and Harry could never know. 

“Sitting down, eh? Before you break the big news, I don’t think you can get pregnant from a kiss.”

The taut line of Harry’s lips relaxed into a smile as he shifted so that he was facing Louis, one leg dangling off the bench, the other bent with his knee tucked beneath his chin. 

“Is there something on your mind?” Louis asked carefully.

“I just… you don’t have to be here if you’d rather go back inside. I don’t want to keep you from having fun.”

The wind ruffled Harry’s hair, a strand of it curling against his pale cheek. It was stupid that he even thought Louis would rather be anywhere else. 

“Nah, it’s always the same. As fun as it is watching Niall convince everyone he can’t get drunk because he’s Irish, it gets old after a while.” Louis shifted his gaze to his knees, added, “I like being right here.”

_With you._

“Is that,” Harry cleared his throat, his voice deep, questioning, “why you’re out here? Wanted to get away?”

It felt like too personal of a talk with someone he hadn’t known that long and yet… Yet Harry had never truly felt like a stranger.

“Needed some air. Liam wasn’t paying me any attention anyway, so, you know… I made a dramatic exit.”

“Very dramatic,” Harry said smiling with his head tilted to the side. Sometimes it was difficult to look at him. It just made it harder for Louis to make himself look away. _I know you_ , he wanted to say. Only he didn’t. Not really.

“You didn’t even see it.”

“Well, I’m sure it was.”

Louis poked Harry’s knee because his fidgety hands clearly couldn’t help themselves. “Do you just know everything then? Are there any other secrets you’re hiding under those curls?”

“Lou,” Harry started and Louis pulled back, wondering if he’d been too obvious. Harry tapped his knee right back as if letting him know it was all right. Louis didn’t know what to make of any of this, didn’t understand why Harry kept reading him so easily. “You do know that I like talking to you, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he said, uncertain and hoping it came off as anything but. “Everyone loves me. You never stood a chance either, really.” He let out a dramatic sigh, playing it off. “It’s a hard life I live.”

“It’s a curse,” Harry said, nodding. “To have everyone loving you. Must be awful.”

No. It was awful to sit here with shadows dancing over the soft edge of Harry’s cheeks and casting intimate patterns in the hollows under his eyes, and not being able to say that he was beautiful and that Louis wanted to lie down holding his hand until they counted all the stars in the sky. 

Louis smiled anyway. “Yeah. It is. It’s tragic.”

“And here I thought you liked the attention.”

“You’re not allowed to use my weaknesses against me. That’s cheating.”

The tip of Harry’s shoe nudged Louis’ leg, his smile cheeky. Louis tried not to return it and failed.

“Is it weird that, um,” Harry nudged his foot deeper under Louis’ thigh, his shoulders relaxing, “I feel like I’ve met you before?”

Was it weird that Louis’ hands couldn’t sit still until they were touching Harry somehow? Was it weird that right now he wanted to reach out and pull Harry close just to breathe him in?

“It’s not weird,” he said instead, restless with it. As though he was missing a point. “Maybe we have met, you know. In a concert somewhere or just bumped into each other on the street without knowing.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry said, playing with his shoelaces. “I’m glad I did meet you though. Like, properly.”

“Well then I’m even gladder. Don’t go around stealing my sappy thunder, Curly.” His hand moved before Louis could even think it through, brushing off the stray curl from Harry’s cheek. 

Their eyes met. 

Harry blinked slowly and turned into Louis’ touch, soft and trusting in a way that made Louis’ heartbeat stutter. He caressed Harry’s cheek with his knuckles, sparks igniting when their skin touched. “I’m glad you moved here. And that you picked my shitty school. And that you forgot your pen that first day.”

He was worried he sounded shaky and strange, but Harry just smiled and said, “Me too,” and Louis didn’t feel as much like a fool.

He let his hand drop, already itching to touch Harry again. He wanted to say, _you still didn’t give it back to me_ , but a part of him liked that Harry had something of his.

“I wasn’t glad, at first,” Harry said, the corners of his mouth drooping. “Even though I knew it was my fault Mum wanted to move.”

It was very minuscule, but it was there. That flicker of doubt in Harry’s expression as he looked away, as though he regretted saying that out loud.

“It’s all right,” Louis said. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

They were all allowed their secrets. Harry would tell him when he was ready. And if not, that was all right too.

“You’re not planning on moving again though, are you?” Louis asked. The idea of Harry just disappearing out of his life one day as if he’d never been there in the first place scared him more than he’d have liked to admit.

“I hope not. Mum likes her job here as well, which is good.”

“What does she do?”

Harry seemed puzzled for a while. “You don’t know?”

Had Harry told him already? He couldn’t have. Louis would have remembered it as he did everything about him, carefully cataloguing all the pieces of Harry Styles even though he didn’t mean to.

“She works for your dad.” Harry’s brows furrowed as he regarded Louis. “I don’t know why I… I just assumed you knew. I don’t even know how you would now that I think about it, but… yeah.”

“I didn’t know.” Maybe because his dad didn’t even know his friends’ names. “I hope he’s not being a wanker to her.”

Harry laughed, that delighted burst of a sound that Louis was learning to adore. “Well, no. He’s like the boss of her boss’ boss. She manages the interns. But… your dad is the founder of Tomlinson and Tate, right? I just kind of assumed, because of the name, but…” 

“Yeah, that’s him. Tomlinson and… yeah. I guess, that was the only name that could fit his massive ego.”

“Can’t blame him. If I had my own company I’d name it after me too.” 

“Well, to be fair, your name would look great on a building.” 

“Nah.” Harry ducked his head, smiling at his shoes and Louis couldn’t help it. Before he knew it, his fingers were touching the curls constantly falling into Harry’s eyes again. 

He withdrew the second Harry lifted his gaze, because once was kind of acceptable. Twice within such a short space of time left Louis feeling jittery and exposed.

“Come on,” he stood up, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep himself from crossing any more lines. “It’s getting chilly.”

Harry didn’t mention it, acted as if nothing strange had happened. Louis was grateful for that.

“I want something sweet,” Harry said, falling into step beside Louis. “Do you think there are any sweets in the house?”

“Perrie has a cupcake obsession and I know all her hiding spots. I’m sure we can find something.” 

“I love cupcakes.” Harry’s smile was so bright it almost hurt to look at. Too bad Louis was a glutton for punishment.

They managed to find an unopened box of red velvet cupcakes topped with pink frosting and sprinkles and sat on the floor inside a small broom closet with a single bare light bulb swinging over their heads. It was dusty and small and kind of perfect.

They sat facing each other, knees touching, as they went on to make a dent in Perrie’s stash, Louis’ shoes kicked off to the side.

“She’ll kill me if she finds out it was me, just so you know,” Louis said, watching the dim yellow light cast Harry’s face in shadow. It felt familiar. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Harry glanced up, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Eat all the frosting first.”

“Because it’s the best part.” He finished the last of the frosting, humming in pleasure, completely unaware of the effect he had on Louis.

“But then you’re just left with the bare cupcake part. Who likes eating a cupcake without the frosting?”

“But what if there’s a sudden earthquake or a meteor hits the Earth and you’ll have eaten the less tasty part first and won’t ever get to finish the frosting?”

“That is so ridiculous.”

“Or, what if there’s a cupcake thief who steals it before you can eat the frosting? Ever thought of that?” There was a grin on Harry’s face, his fingers sticky with sugar and Louis didn’t think he’d ever forget this moment, even if he tried.

“Met many cupcake thieves, have you?”

“Loads,” Harry said with a serious nod. “They’re more common than you think.”

“You’re so peculiar.” Louis smiled into his cupcake and took a bite, feeling as if they were two runaways hiding from the outside world.

“I guess I am,” Harry admitted in a quieter voice and there was a sudden weight behind his words that made Louis glance up, made him want to feel Harry’s skin and whisper, _you’re perfect._

“I like that you are,” Louis said.

“I’m not sure you do,” Harry breathed out a laugh and shook his head. “I want to tell you stuff, but I don’t know how.”

“I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you—”

“No,” Harry said earnestly. “No, that’s not why. I know you wouldn’t.”

“It’s all right, Curly,” Louis smiled, hid his face behind half-eaten cupcake. “See? I’m not even watching you. I might as well not be here.”

“You’re so dumb.”

“Thank you.”

“I thought you weren’t here,” Harry said, wrapping his fingers around Louis’ wrist and pulling his cupcake-wielding hand away from his face. “Thought you weren’t supposed to talk.”

“I can turn around if you want me to,” Louis offered, serious. “Makes it easier to say things, sometimes.”

Harry took a breath as though he wanted to say something, but in the end he just let go of Louis’ hand and shook his head. “You’re really lovely, you know.”

As much as Louis wanted to hold those words close to his chest, he felt like that wasn’t what Harry had meant to say.

“I don’t want you to turn around,” Harry said. “I want to say it to you, I just… I’m not sure what it even is that I want to say and it’s not that serious, it’s just—”

“Harry,” Louis said gently. “You’re not making much sense.”

“Right. Sorry.” He exhaled a shaky breath, red creeping into his cheeks. “I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”

“I’m listening, all right? And you know you don’t need to be nervous with me, but I reckon saying that won’t help you be any less nervous anyway.”

“It doesn’t,” Harry agreed with a rueful smile and pulled at his shoelace distractedly. Louis let him gather his thoughts.

“It was just… all right,” Harry said, his gaze trained on his shoes. “Kissing her.”

Louis bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from asking questions. It wasn’t more questions Harry needed right now.

“It was like… it wasn’t bad. It just didn’t feel like it should? It never has. Not the first time and not last year and not now either and I… I’m nearly eighteen, you know?” Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth and added, almost too quietly, “Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me.”

“Do you think it’s, um… Sorry.” 

“You can ask, you know,” Harry said kindly. “I might not answer, but you can ask.”

“Do you think it might be because she was a… a girl?”

Even in the dim light, Louis could see the pink of Harry’s cheeks deepen. “I’ve kissed a boy too. It wasn’t… I always feel like there’s something missing. Like it’s just fine.”

There was a long pause before Harry spoke again, uncertain, his gaze flicking up to meet Louis’. “Mostly it doesn’t feel like anything. Or more like, uncomfortably close sometimes. Is that weird?”

“No, it’s not,” Louis said, and he meant it. He didn’t understand how Harry could split himself open right in front of him so easily, as if there were no barriers holding him back. “It’s not weird, Harry.”

“But it’s not _normal_.”

“Normal is overrated. It’s all right, you know.” The muffled thrum of the music sneaking in through the cracks was the only sound in the tiny room and Louis wished he knew the right words to say, to let Harry know that no matter how he felt, it didn’t mean he was anything _less_. “I reckon normal means different things to different people. I think you’re perfectly fine the way you are.”

Harry seemed ready to say something but in the end just sighed, arms drawn close to his body. Louis never wanted to reach out for him this badly.

“Lou?” Harry asked after a long stretch of silence.

“Yeah?”

“What if,” he chewed on the corner of his mouth, released it, “what if I always feel like this? Even when I… if I date someone. What if it never changes and they’ll feel like I don’t love them enough?”

Louis didn’t think it was fair, because just being around Harry was better than being intimate with anyone else. 

He didn’t say that out loud.

“Would you really want to date someone who would make you feel like that?”

“It’s not always about what we want. Sometimes it just… happens. Sometimes we do stupid things that aren’t worth it, but we… we do them anyway.”

Louis wasn’t sure he knew what they were talking about anymore but he recognized the tense line between Harry’s brows, the shamed hunch of his shoulders, and wished he knew enough to understand.

“Harry, whatever happened, it… it doesn’t make you a bad person. Not wanting to snog people left and right doesn’t make you _wrong_.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Louis couldn’t stand the look on his face, as if he didn’t believe it. 

“Listen to me,” he leaned in, resisted the urge to wrap his arms around Harry. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. _Nothing._ All right?”

Harry shrugged a little, ducking his gaze. 

“If anyone tells you any different, tell me and I’ll prank them so hard they’ll be regretting it for the rest of their life. Yeah?”

Harry didn’t smile, but his body uncurled little by little. “All right.”

After they split and demolished another cupcake in loaded silence, Harry spoke again. “Do you mind? When I get clingy and touchy-feely with you? Because I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, so if you—”

“Harry, have I ever given you the impression that I mind?”

Harry thought about it, seemed to pick his words carefully. “Maybe you’re just too nice to tell me. Maybe I’m crossing some kind of line I shouldn’t, without realising.” A frown creased his brows and Louis wanted to reach over and smooth it out with his thumb.

“Reaching inside someone’s pants for a quick wank could be considered crossing a line, I guess.”

Harry snorted and Louis grinned in reply, proud to see the frown fade into a tentative smile.

“Not always unwanted, mind you.” He winked, tried to make Harry smile even wider.

“I guess it’s always good to ask politely first.”

“Of course. Manners will get you everywhere.”

Harry flashed him a quick grin then, the pressure in the air lifting and dissolving, though the heavy weight of it wasn’t completely forgotten. 

A couple more cupcakes fell victim to their greediness before he, followed by Harry, finally pushed himself off the floor, filled with sugar and this _feeling_. As though there was an invisible thread tethering them together. And this was bad, so achingly, terrifyingly bad. Because he was supposed to keep his feelings under wraps, not want to weave even more and more of the threads until they were both tangled in them.

“Wait,” Harry said, touching Louis’ shoulder just as he finished putting his shoes back on and was about to open the door.

“What is it?”

Harry was right in front him and his careful fingers cupping Louis’ jaw stunned him motionless.

“You’ve got,” Harry’s brows were furrowed as he stared at his lips and Louis had never felt more self-conscious of any part of his body before. “Frosting.”

Louis couldn’t have replied if he’d tried.

Harry’s thumb rubbed over his bottom lip and if Harry pressed his palm over Louis’ heart he’d have known in an instant that it was struggling to jump out of his chest and take flight.

“There. Got it. Wouldn’t want you to be caught with the evidence of cupcake theft for Perrie to see.”

“Cheers,” Louis breathed out, cursing himself for reacting this way to a smallest touch. _Weak, weak, weak._ “That… that would have been awful.”

“What are friends for, right?” With Harry’s fingers curled around his wrist, he opened the door and pulled Harry along.

Friends. He could do this. He _could_. All he had to do was not slip and let himself fall in any deeper than he’d already had.

It would be fine. _He_ would be fine. He just had to try harder.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic post can be found [here](http://donotdialnine.tumblr.com/post/149900401587/the-edge-of-never-by-thecellardoor-wip) because I am a goddamn professional™.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Louis likes seeing Harry kiss someone else even less than he likes wearing shoes and it's easier to share secrets when you're stuffed full of stolen cupcakes.

Louis was dying.

If the headache didn’t kill him first it would be the dryness in his mouth. He was _parched_. Couldn’t even feel his left hand.

After he and Harry had snuck out of the broom closet, they’d grabbed a big bowl of something… something with a splash of everything in it, and Louis knew it had been a bad idea as soon as they’d taken it, but that hadn’t stopped either of them. 

Probably not the wisest choice he’d ever made.

He’d vaguely remembered holding onto the hem of Harry’s T-shirt by the end of the night, face buried between Harry’s shoulder blades as they’d walked upstairs. Harry had reached behind to touch Louis’ side. It had been a small thing, insignificant, definitely no reason for him to remember it at all.

He blinked his eyes open, the beige ceiling of Perrie’s guest room coming into blurry focus. At least he hadn’t thrown up on her Persian rug this time.

Somewhere to his left where the bed was, Harry groaned, his voice deep. Rough.

Louis wanted to roll off the sofa and crawl as far away as he possibly could before he said something stupid like _I want you to whisper dirty poetry in my ear._

“Sleep well?” Louis asked instead, shaking his hand, wincing as the blood started to flow back in. Remind him to never again fall asleep with his hand tucked under his bum.

Harry grunted something into the pillow after he’d flopped on his belly, limbs flung out like a starfish. 

Louis was suddenly glad he’d refused Harry’s offer to share the queen-sized mattress, pretty sure he’d have woken Harry up as he’d tossed and turned in his sleep. He was told he did that a lot. 

“I feel like death,” Louis said.

“You didn’t even drink that much.”

“Are you kidding? There was everything in that bowl. A bloody _bowl_ , Harry.”

“I’m cold,” Harry mumbled and rolled himself into the blanket like a human burrito. It would have been so much easier, had he been a tosser. If everything he did didn’t make Louis want to coo over him and pet his curls and kiss him softly. “Lou?”

“Hm?”

“Come here?”

Harry was the worst and Louis was a mess who found it too hard to say no.

“Why? I, um… have horrible morning breath. You’re too young to die.”

“Don’t care,” Harry said, “Just don’t breathe into my face and I’ll be fine. Just… can you hug me please?” 

Harry had a pillow crease on his cheek and his eyes were puffy. He blinked sleepily, patiently waiting for Louis’ reply.

Louis was fucked. 

“Of course I can.”

So with a sense of doom, he padded over to the bed, flopping down on his side with a bounce and lifting his arm in invitation. “Come here.”

Harry freed himself from the blankets and wriggled close to him, fitting himself underneath Louis’ arm with his own tucked close to his body.

“Thank you,” Harry said, curls tickling Louis’ chin. “’S nice.”

“Nice?” Louis repeated, close to being actually offended. “Excuse you, I’m a champion cuddler. I expect flowery compliments, none of which are allowed to include the word _nice_.”

“But it is. And nice is… nice. Perfect.” Harry nuzzled the side of Louis’ neck, and it shouldn’t feel this comfortable, but it did. 

“Perfect is better. You’re forgiven.” He may or may not have sniffed Harry’s hair. He wasn’t proud of it. “For the moment.”

“Are we all right?” Harry asked after a while. “You don’t feel weird about me after yesterday, do you?”

He could tell Harry was trying to ask that jokingly, but what Louis would say next mattered a whole lot.

“There’s nothing you could say that would make me feel weird about you. Even if you like, enjoy eating cat food in your spare time. Or lick sofa cushions.”

Harry’s burst of a laugh hit Louis’ neck, his arm slipping over Louis’ waist to pull him closer. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Maybe that was my way of telling you what I like.”

Harry’s response was to tangle his legs with Louis’ and say, “I guess that’s okay. You do you.”

“Thanks,” Louis said, hiding his smile in Harry’s hair.

Harry’s fingers pulled at the back of Louis’ T-shirt idly, his voice slower than usual as he asked, “Lou? Is it okay if we stay like this? If we, um… go back to sleep for a bit longer?” 

He hoped Harry couldn’t feel the frantic jump of his heart where their chests were touching. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

He didn’t think he could calm down enough to start dozing off again, but he did. He hugged Harry close, pulled a blanket over them both and let the sleep drag him under completely, blissfully dreamless.

*****

“You two are really close, aren’t you?” Liam asked out of nowhere.

Louis and Liam were walking back from school, just the two of them, grey clouds hanging low in the sky. Louis stuck his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched against the wind. He kicked at the pebble in his path and refused to look at Liam even though he could feel Liam’s gaze burning into the side of his face.

“What do you mean?”

“You and Harry,” Liam said, almost carefully.

Louis swallowed hard, breathed in and out. It was too close for comfort. “Jealous, Payno? You should have said so.”

He elbowed Liam playfully in the side, grinning to throw Liam off the scent, to steer him away from the topic. Louis didn’t like the way it made his lungs constrict with panic.

“Well, I mean, we don’t talk as much as we used to—”

“Aww, come on,” Louis slung his arm over Liam’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “I’m sorry, yeah? We’ll have ourselves a nice lad’s get together one of these days. Since we didn’t have one during the summer because you two so _rudely_ abandoned me here on me own.”

Liam heaved a sigh. “Louis, that’s not why I—”

Louis let go of him and pulled at his bag straps, frantically searching for something to say, telling himself this wasn’t going where he thought it was. “What?”

“Just, didn’t see much of you at the party either,” Liam said.

“Mate, I’m surprised you saw anything past Sophia’s face. You seemed literally attached to it the last time I saw you that night.”

Liam made a choked noise in the back of his throat. “I’d rather… not talk about that.”

“Did something happen?” Louis asked. Zayn – Liam’s best friend since childhood – thought so too when he’d called Louis a couple days ago, saying Liam was off because he wasn’t laughing at SpongeBob. Louis had thought that was a rubbish excuse until Liam had shown up with his hair shaved off.

Liam stayed silent.

“Zayn said—”

“Oh, so are you and Zayn talking about me behind my back then?” Liam asked. “I told him to stop worrying.”

“You say that like we’re bloody gossiping about you, Payno. We weren’t. We just… I mean, look at your _hair_. What’s that all about? Thought I was supposed to be the dramatic one here.”

Liam sighed, made to run his hand through his hair then realised he didn’t really have any anymore and dropped his hand. “I just felt like changing it. Didn’t know it was the end of the world.”

Louis gave him a sidelong glance, treading carefully. “It’s not. And I could be wrong but I can tell when something’s bothering you, believe it or not. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Just… know that you can.”

Louis paused on the sidewalk leading up to Liam’s flat building, tugged on the sleeve of Liam’s denim shirt. He wished he didn’t feel so out of his depth. “You’re one of my best mates. You can tell me anything, you know that. I won’t tell anyone.”

Liam chuckled. It was an empty sound. “Nobody can keep secrets like you, Tommo.”

Louis shifted a little, unsure. There was something in the way Liam said it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just… it goes both ways.” Liam looked down at Louis’ hand on his sleeve. “I feel like you keep everything from me. Why should I tell you stuff when you hardly ever return the favour?”

“Liam—“ He let go of Liam’s sleeve, conscious of the way Liam was looking at him. As if he could see right through Louis. “If this is about what we talked about… just now—”

“About Harry, you mean.”

Louis swallowed, his mouth dry.

“Not just that. Everything, you know? I feel like you keep everything close to your chest,” Liam said. “I just wish you knew you can trust me.” 

“I do trust you.”

“Do you?” Liam fished his keys out of the pocket of his jeans. They jangled in his hand. “Never mind. It’s fine.”

“Are _we_ fine?”

Liam’s face softened as he pulled Louis into a tight hug. Louis wasn’t ashamed to admit that he clung to Liam a bit tighter than usual. “Of course we are. I just worry about you sometimes.”

“I do trust you,” Louis repeated. He just had a hard time letting go. It was his own fault. He was better at listening and comforting others than letting them in. It felt a lot like adding his burden onto someone else’s shoulders.

“It’s all right. I love you. I’m not trying to make you feel like you owe me anything.” Liam let him go, taking a step back. 

“I don’t want you to think differently of me,” Louis admitted quietly, his heart beating on the tip of his tongue. He was bloody terrified. He remembered the last time he had admitted something important to someone he cared about. It hadn’t ended well.

They weren’t Liam though, were they? He wouldn’t do that. He _wouldn’t_.

“Why would I? I already think you’re a right twat half the time.”

Louis laughed, embarrassed when his eyes started to burn. “Takes one to know one.”

Liam smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. His brows creased as he took a quick breath. “Listen, don’t tell me anything you don’t want to, yeah? It was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have said all that. Just… if _you_ want to, you know. You can. I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” Louis said, his hands shaking a little. He wanted to say it. Fuck, he… he did. The thought of telling anyone felt a lot like relief. That if only he could make it past the blinding panic knotted in his chest, he could get it out and everything would be easier. Maybe he’d feel less like a fraud.

Liam took another step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Now or never. He shouldn’t. _Couldn’t._

Could he?

“I’m gay.”

Liam stayed still, quiet.

Louis swallowed hard, already reaching out to adjust his fringe out of nervous habit. He told himself it didn’t matter what Liam would say, but he felt a little sick anyway. In the end, it did matter, no matter how much Louis didn’t want it to.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Louis said, willing his voice not to shake. “It’s just… it doesn’t matter. It’s not a thing. I don’t want it to be a thing—”

Before he could ramble on, Liam was right there, hugging Louis so tight breathing was starting to get difficult.

Liam didn’t say ‘I knew it’ or ‘that’s a bit gross, init, mate?’

He said, “I don’t think differently of you. I love you. I’m glad you told me.”

Louis hugged him back and buried his face in Liam’s shoulder, laughing a little. His stupid hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He couldn’t tell if he felt better or worse now. Maybe it hadn’t quite sunk in.

“I love you too, you oaf,” Louis said.

“Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask something?”

“Just did,” Louis said, unsteady.

Liam squeezed him tighter, swayed them side to side. “But really.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah. Come on.”

Liam rubbed his back and Louis wondered if Liam was just trying to pick the right words or if he was stalling.

“Are you and Harry… you know.”

“Don’t think I do,” Louis said tersely.

He knew Liam didn’t mean for it to come off like that— as if it could be _weird_ — but it still prickled at Louis’ skin. Old habits were hard to break.

“Are you dating?” Liam finally asked. “Is it rude that I asked that? I’m sorry. It’s not really any of my business.”

And yeah, okay. Louis had just… he’d got a little too sensitive too quick. Liam wouldn’t judge him like that.

“It’s all right, Payno. We’re friends. Nothing more.”

“But you think he’s cute,” Liam said.

Louis could feel Liam’s grin against his cheek and almost laughed. It felt… good. Nice. Being teased like this. “Shut up. I’m sure everyone who meets him feels the same way.”

Liam squeezed Louis one more time before letting go. He was smiling. “You’d look cute together, you know.”

It was stupid how pleased it made Louis feel. It was pointless anyway. “Go home before I disown you.”

Liam’s smile slowly ebbed away until he was looking at Louis seriously, but not unkindly. “I’m happy you told me, you know. I won’t tell anyone. I just… I’m here for you.”

Louis would never admit how much it meant to him. He pressed his lips together and nodded sharply, trying to laugh it off and failing. “All right. Yeah. Appreciate that.”

“Love you, Tommo,” Liam said, taking another step back, his keys clanging.

“Go home before I start crying in public.”

Liam smiled but turned on his heel anyway, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, lovebird.”

“Twat!” Louis watched him go, feeling lighter than he had in a while.

*****

When Louis came home, the house was empty and quiet, even though he knew Emmy must have already come home.

When he finally found her, she was standing in front of the door leading down to the basement, her small hand closed around the locked doorknob.

Something about the sight gave him a jolt of discomfort.

“What are you doing, bug?”

She let go as if burned and twisted around to face him, looking guilty. “Nothing.”

“There’s nothing down there. Just big scary spiders.” And boxes. A lot of boxes full of stuff Mum had left behind. Louis hadn’t been down there in a year. He didn’t want to see any of it. It just reminded him of all the moments he’d no longer have with her.

“Come on,” he said, holding his hand out. The last thing he needed was for Emmy to trip in the dark on the stairs and break her leg when he wasn’t there to look after her.

“Spiders are cute anyway,” she said and walked away from the door, taking his hand. “I’m bored. Can we do something fun? Can you play for me?”

Louis faltered in his step, heart thudding painfully hard against his ribs. “Not… not right now, bug.”

“But,” she started, digging her heels in, frowning, “you always say that. Are you lying to me?”

He sighed and knelt down so he could look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m not sure I know how to anymore.”

He wasn’t lying, exactly. He hadn’t touched the piano in months. He didn’t know if he could remember to touch the right keys anymore.

“You and Mum used to always play together,” she insisted, pouting. “Of course you know how.”

“Appreciate the vote of confidence, but… not right now, yeah?” He stood up. “How about I let you play with my hair instead?”

She eyed him as though she was about to argue with him some more, but in the end she just nodded and pulled on his hand to lead him up the staircase. “I’m going to braid it. And I’ll use my glitter bows.”

It sounded a lot like a threat.

In this case, it was the lesser of two evils.

“Okay. Do your worst.”

*****

When he said ‘do your worst’, he didn’t exactly mean— “Ow!”

“Sit still, please,” Emmy told him once they were back in his bedroom, tiny fingers twisted around his hair. “I’m not done yet.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“Thank you.”

His phone pinged with a text from Liam and… fuck. He’d told Liam. He’d told him and the world wasn’t imploding.

_‘Hope ur gud. Love u.’_

He wondered if he’d have the guts to tell anyone else, to go through it all again.

A part of him didn’t want to. He didn’t want to feel like he had something to confess. He just wanted to be. But a part of him wanted to stop feeling like he was hiding a part of himself from the people he cared about.

He dropped his phone next to his thigh on the floor. “Do you think I need a haircut?”

“No.” Emmy petted his hair from where she was sitting above him on his bed. “I like your hair like this. It’s fluffy.”

“Thanks ever so.” He tilted his head back to rest it against the edge of the mattress, reaching out to pinch her cheek, willing himself to give Emmy his full attention. “You gonna be a hairdresser then?”

“I’m going to be a doctor,” she said in a way that suggested Louis hadn’t been listening once again.

He caught her arm and pulled her over his shoulder into his lap, tickled her until she squealed and almost kicked him in the jaw. “Say I’m the king of this manor, you beast!”

“Never!” She laughed her belly-deep laugh that always cracked him up, squirming so much she almost wriggled out of his grasp. “ _I’m_ the k-king!”

“This house is not big enough for both of us. This is war!” He caught her ankle when she tried to roll away and tickled her sole until she was gasping, splotches of red popping up on her cheeks.

“L-lou, stop!”

“That’s not the magic word.”

She latched onto his forearm and bit down. He abruptly let go and jumped away from her.

“Fucking Christ, you’re vicious!”

“You swore!” She pointed at him, eyes wide with delight.

He was about to start round two and lunge at her when the door to his room opened and his father appeared in the doorway. “Can you two keep it down? I’m trying to work.”

That was all he said before he left without closing the door. The air had grown heavier and Emmy was no longer smiling. Sometimes Louis just wished he could take her with him and leave.

“Louis?”

“What’s up, bug?”

“Does dad hate us?”

_You’d have to care to hate someone,_ he wanted to say, but bit his tongue. It wasn’t that Dad hated them. He just didn’t care about anything anymore. 

“He doesn’t, love. He’s just tired from working so much. It’s all right, yeah?” 

He always said that he was working, but Louis had caught him once sitting on the floor of his bedroom, staring at Mum’s old cello. He’d never even noticed Louis, and Louis had never mentioned it. 

Sometimes he wondered if that was all Dad ever did when he came home from the office and told them he was ‘busy’. If he spent the time staring at the nightgown nobody was allowed to wash, if he sat down at the vanity where her perfume was still in the same spot she’d left it, her silk scarves folded over the armchair.

Emmy shuffled close to him and plastered herself to his side. “Do you love me?”

“Most in the world,” he answered and kissed the top of her head.

“Even when I bite you?” she whispered into his chest.

“Especially then.” He combed his fingers through her blond hair, wishing for a moment that they could stay like this forever and never grow up. “Bite any boy who looks at you wrong. Or just looks at you in general. Or wants to date you when you’re older. Much older. Like thirty, at least.”

“Ew, I’ll never date a boy. They’re gross.”

“Hey! I’m a boy and I’m not gross. I’ll have you know I shower almost every day.”

“Sometimes you have stinky feet.”

“Take that back!” He dug his fingers into her armpit until she elbowed him in his stomach. He’d have been proud if it hadn’t actually hurt. Bloody hell.

“Would you date a boy?”

Louis’ pained expression froze on his face and for a few seconds he wasn’t actually sure he’d heard her right.

“Well, um… I’m not. I don’t, not… eh—” It must have been some kind of cosmic joke, a bad karma he’d collected during all those time he’d thrown up on someone’s shoes or cheated on a test. His phone lit up with Harry’s name on it, his grinning face dimpling from the screen. 

Emmy swiped his phone from the floor and answered it before he could blink. “This is Lou’s phone. I’m Emmy.”

She nodded as if Harry could actually see her. “Hello. Did you know your voice is really deep?”

Louis shook himself and stretched out his palm, lifting his eyebrow in a wordless gesture of _give me back my bloody phone._

“I’m okay. I’ve just finished doing Lou’s hair. You should see how pretty he looks.” 

When she grinned at something Harry said, Louis wanted to yell _what did he say?_ But he liked to think he still had some self-respect left, so he sat still and gestured at Emmy to pass him the phone.

“I think he’s mad I took his phone.” She looked at him, clearly not regretting it at all. “We were talking about boys. He told me—”

That was Louis’ cue to intervene. He snatched the phone from her hand then looked at it and panicked.

Emmy smiled at him innocently.

Sometimes he wondered if she was the devil’s spawn.

He cleared his throat, grateful that Harry couldn’t see his flaming face, and pressed it to his ear. “Eh… hi. This is Louis, finally. Sorry about my sister, don’t mind her. She can’t even tie her own shoes.”

“I can, too!”

“She’s cute,” Harry said, a smile in his voice. “From what I could tell before you so rudely took the phone from her.”

“Is this how it’s going to be then? You two ganging up on me? I’m filing a formal complaint.” He realized with a start that had he been using the landline like the characters in the 90s’ movies, he’d have been twirling his finger around the cord right now.

Harry chuckled, deep and warm. “I bet I could get her to tell me all sorts of embarrassing stories about you.”

“Oh, I bet she’d tell you gladly all on her own.” Louis dropped his forehead against the mattress and glared at Emmy from the corner of his eye. “Traitor.”

“Lou?” Harry asked, almost nervously.

Louis straightened up and pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Would you mind if,” Harry started, “if… um, if I came around to yours right now? But like, don’t feel obliged to say—”

“Yes, of course you can.” Louis curled his legs up, knees under his chin. “You know you can. Anytime.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked. “It’s just… Mum’s got a few friends coming over and I don’t want to get in their way.”

“Don’t be silly and get your bum over here right now. I’ll lock the little monster in a dungeon, she won’t be bothering us.” He looked pointedly at Emmy. Her little pout and I-am-innocent-in-all-this eyes were not swaying him from holding a grudge until he was old and grey.

“Nah. She’s cute,” Harry said. “I like kids. I’ll just hang out with you two, if that’s okay.”

Of course he liked kids. Louis wouldn’t have been surprised to find out Harry was saving baby seals in his free time and pre-chewing food for orphaned newborn birds.

“More than okay, H.”

He gave Harry the address, ended the phone call and groaned into his bedspread. There was a mess of dirty laundry on his floor, a sabotaging child and a vague sense of nausea rolling around in his stomach at the way Harry was making him feel.

But other than that, he was totally fine.

*****

“Your house really is massive.” Harry’s eyes went wide as he turned on his heel to take it all in. The marble floors and the high, sloping ceiling, the greys and whites of the decor. It was a beautiful house, really, it just didn’t feel like much of a home.

“Yeah, it’s… big. I got told off for riding my skateboard down the hall when I was younger. Several times, actually.”

“What’s the point of having a big house if you can’t make proper use of it?” Harry asked.

“Exactly.”

He took a step forward right as Harry circled his wrist and held him back, brought him closer to his side. “Lou—”

Louis glanced down at their joined hands, watched Harry’s thumb rub soothing circles into his wrist, right where his heartbeat drummed beneath paper-thin skin.

“Thank you for letting me come over,” Harry said, tilting his head to the side and just looking at Louis in that intensely focused way of his. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

“I promise I don’t. You’re always welcome here,” Louis said, his wrist tingling. “Now come on, I’ll show you my room.”

Harry let go of his hand. Louis missed it already. “Good idea, it’s a bit, um… cold here.”

“Is it?” Louis frowned. “I guess I don’t notice anymore.” 

“Just a little,” Harry said, following Louis up the wide staircase. “I bet your room’s full of clutter. Some childhood pictures. Maybe a big Spiderman statue.”

“Are you calling me messy? And a geek?” Louis lifted his eyebrow, couldn’t help but smile because Harry wasn’t that far off.

“Am I wrong?”

Louis sighed. “Fair warning. I did try to clean up.”

He’d picked up all the dirty clothes off the floor and thrown them in the hamper, but there was bound to be some stray sock left peeking from under the dresser or a shirt spilling out of a drawer.

“Knew it,” Harry said with triumph in his voice when they entered Louis’ room. “Knew you liked the Marvel stuff.”

Louis had his walls covered in all kinds of things. Posters of bands and superheroes and football legends, with a special spot reserved for drawings Emmy had given him. He had a soft beige carpet because he liked to walk around barefoot and a bay window where he sometimes liked to sit with a stack of papers in his lap ready to be filled. Surprisingly, not only with dick doodles.

“Don’t be so smug. There’s still a lot you don’t know about me.” He sat down in the centre of his bed, Indian-style. “Scandalous, horrifying things.”

Harry shrugged and joined him, flopping down next to him on his belly, arms crossed under his cheek. Louis wanted to card his fingers through Harry’s hair, rest his lips over the little dimples at the bottom of Harry’s spine where his old black T-shirt rode up. Wanted to poke his finger through the little hole in the fabric over Harry’s shoulder.

“Well, I want to. I want to know everything you want to tell me.” Harry flipped on his back, hands laced over his belly, one knee propped up. He looked so casual, so at home it was hard for Louis to look away.

He wondered if he’d have to tell Harry at all or if he’d somehow already figured it out. Everything seemed easier with Harry.

“It’s the curls. They’re trustworthy. I’d probably tell you I stole other people’s underwear without meaning to.”

“Would you?” Harry smiled lazily, closing his eyes. 

Louis lay down next to him, curled up on his side. “What would you say if I, um… if I told you…”

Harry opened his eyes, probably sensing Louis’ sudden nerves. He rolled over onto his side so they were face to face and tucked his arm under the pillow beneath his head. “Go on.”

“If I told you,” Louis let out a breathy laugh, his pulse jumping when Harry rested his knuckles against Louis’ forearm and dragged them gently up and down his skin. “That, um, if I did steal people’s underwear, I’d be stealing… the boys’ ones, what would you say?”

Harry didn’t pull away, didn’t startle or freeze. He wrapped his arm around Louis’ waist and pulled him so close the tips of their noses were nearly touching, knees knocking together. They were sharing the same pillow and it occurred to Louis that once he went to bed tonight, he’d probably be able to smell Harry on it. 

He could feel Harry’s calm breath on his lips as he said, “Then I’d say I hope those pants weren’t _too_ dirty, unless that was your thing, and that you were happy.”

Louis laughed, relieved even though he knew he’d had nothing to be worried about in the first place. He remembered how Harry had told him he’d already kissed a boy, wanted so badly to ask him about it.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis finally braved, idly picking at the sheets in the nearly nonexistent space between them where his arms were curled close to his chest between their bodies. He could feel the heat coming off Harry and wanted to sink into it.

“Of course.” Harry rubbed up and down Louis’ back, his T-shirt rolling up with the motion.

“Is it different? Kissing a boy? And I know you’re not like, you said it hasn’t been that good for you but… does it feel _different_?”

Harry paused, thought about it. Holding his gaze right now felt terrifyingly intense, but Louis couldn’t look away if he tried.

“A little. It’s, um, a bit rougher. If they have stubble. The girls are softer, usually, not always. Not that I kissed that many of them.” His hand resumed the lazy movement up and down Louis’ back, his fingertips just grazing the bare skin of Louis’ lower back. He felt it all the way down to his toes. “So you’ve never—”

“Couldn’t. Didn’t want to like… you know. I kissed a few girls. Didn’t feel right.” 

He didn’t say how he’d wanted to. That one time in the boys’ locker room back in his old private school. How he’d asked his best friend, who had pushed him away with disgust in his face and told everyone Louis had tried to kiss him. How Louis had been forced to change schools.

“I could, like,” Harry said quietly, wetting his bottom lip, “I could, um… kiss you. If you wanted to. Wanted to see. It doesn’t have to… I won’t tell anyone. Won’t even—”

“Harry.” Louis had to remind himself to breathe, to _think_. “I don’t think that’s… what if it makes everything weird?”

What if Harry hated it? Louis couldn’t handle that.

“I don’t think it will if we… if we’re both okay with it.” Harry’s hand stilled on Louis’ back and the lack of the movement made Louis strangely aware of the weight of Harry’s hand. The heat of his touch. “Nothing has to change. It’s just us. Just a kiss.”

Louis was tempted. So, so tempted it was making him tremble with the need to close the distance and taste Harry’s soft, plush lips.

“Are you only offering because you feel bad for me?” Louis asked, stalling with a half-joke, a part of him worried Harry was only doing this as some kind of good deed for the unfortunate. 

“No, Lou. _No._ You could have anyone you wanted, you know that. I just,” Harry dropped Louis’ gaze, lashes dipping slowly as he blinked and looked down at Louis’ hand resting on the bedspread between them, “I feel comfortable with you, so I thought you did too. Thought it might be nicer for you if you could do it like this without having to worry someone will tell and,” he paused, flustered, “It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it? Can we please forget I ever—”

“No, I do,” Louis saw the red creeping into Harry’s face and felt so fucking awful he kind of wanted to slap himself, wanted to start at the beginning without royally buggering this up. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more comfortable with anyone than I do with you.”

He pulled lightly at the collar of Harry’s T-shirt and took a steadying breath. “I want to. But I don’t want to make you fee like I’m _using_ you.”

“It won’t be the bad kind of using, Lou,” Harry said quietly, the corner of his mouth tipping into a tentative smile, though his face was still flushed with embarrassment. “I offered. And it’s not like… it’s just one kiss. It’ll be nice. A bit like hugging, just… with our mouths.”

Louis almost laughed. “That might be the best thing you’ve ever said.”

“Thanks,” Harry said bashfully, but there was a sudden tension in the air as he waited for Louis to tell him either yes or no.

Louis hadn’t even kissed him yet and he was already burning up, his heart racing. He knew that if he did this, he’d spend his entire life remembering this moment, knowing that for Harry it would have been just _nice_. Just another kiss that didn’t make him feel a thing.

Louis was so bloody selfish. Always had been. He just wanted to have this, just once.

“Can I then?” he asked, leaning in close until the tip of his nose grazed Harry’s. “Just this once?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry whispered, fingertips pressing into Louis’ back. “Come here.”

Louis licked his lips nervously and slid his hand from Harry’s collar up to cradle the side of his face, feeling like he’d never kissed anyone before in his entire life. He might as well not have. He’d never kissed anyone he felt this much for. It made all the difference.

Their slightly parted lips met in a soft, light kiss, barely touching. Louis trembled with it anyway, strangling the moan in the back of his throat as he pressed his lips harder against Harry’s. 

Harry jolted as though surprised, let out a harsh breath through his nose and kissed harder right back, blunt teeth scraping Louis’ bottom lip. Heat sparked at the base of his spine and spilled outward. His T-shirt felt too hot on his skin.

Harry’s curls were soft and right there and Louis couldn’t help but run his fingers through them, pulling lightly. They parted on a breath and met again, lips slotting, the friction of the kiss so good Louis was growing dizzier by a second.

Kissing Harry felt like finding something he forgot he’d lost, as though he knew these lips. The damp softness. The gentle press of Harry’s teeth. The flutter of his lashes brushing over Louis’ cheeks and the little sounds he couldn’t help but make.

_I know you_ , he wanted to kiss into Harry’s mouth, nipping at Harry’s bottom lip, frustrated because he couldn’t bloody _remember_ how or when or why.

It was like trying to hold water in the palms of his hands.

Maybe if he kissed Harry deeper he’d remember all the missing pieces.

They parted, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. The sound of it was almost jarring in the deafening silence.

Louis slid his hand out of Harry’s hair, kissed the tip of his nose because. Just because. This was the first and the last time he’d get to do this, and it ached.

“Thank you,” Louis said, hating how shaky his voice sounded. How he couldn’t help but sweep his thumb over Harry’s soft cheek before he finally made himself pull away.

Harry flattened his hand over Louis’ lower back and wouldn’t let him. “Don’t go.”

He hadn’t meant to leave, he’d just wanted to put a bit of distance between him and Harry’s red, swollen mouth before he leaned in for another kiss again with no excuse to hide behind.

He’d been wrong. Kissing Harry once would never, ever be enough. It had just made the craving worse. “Not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Harry said, caressing Louis’ lower back. He seemed almost shaken. Unsure. “It was, wasn’t it? Good? You don’t regret it?”

How overdramatic would it have been to say he couldn’t ever kiss anyone again without comparing them to Harry and find them lacking?

“Of course not, best kiss I’ve ever had,” Louis admitted, nudging Harry’s socked foot with his own. He grinned, hoping to play it off. “I guess I really am gay. Thanks for letting me, you know, do this.”

“Lou?” Harry asked, hugging Louis close, hiding his face in the crook of Louis’ neck.

He stilled. “What is it?”

“I feel a little weird,” Harry said.

He held Harry close, worried. “Is it because we—”

“No,” Harry said right away, shaking his head. “I mean, kind of. But not because we kissed, just… I feel like I’m missing something, you know, like… I don’t know. I can’t explain it. Like I’m forgetting something?”

Goosebumps rippled down Louis’ spine. He shook it off, told himself he hadn’t felt the same thing.

“If this is you hinting we should be working on that English Lit paper, I’m gonna have to stop you right there.”

Harry pinched Louis’ side, immediately soothing over it with apologetic fingertips even though it hadn’t even hurt. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I give good hugs?” He thumbed behind Harry’s ear, pretended he didn’t feel him shiver.

“I do require quality cuddles. They’re hard to come by.”

“Very manly of you.”

“Hey,” Harry protested, his breath warm on Louis’ neck. “Cuddles _are_ manly.”

Louis was fighting his smile and losing. “Who told you that?”

“My mum,” Harry said with a pout.

“All right, I’ll give you this one.”

It shouldn’t feel this easy, being around Harry. Being so close to him without feeling awkward after they’d kissed.

“Hope it’s not creepy or anything but you smell really nice,” Harry said, his nose pressed into the hollow of Louis’ throat, and maybe Louis had spoken too soon and jinxed it. 

In some ways, it wasn’t easy at all.

“So do you.”

He played idly with the curls at the back of Harry’s neck and didn’t say how sometimes Harry’s scent gave him a jolt of déjà vu. That he smelled sweet and strangely familiar.

“I try my best,” Harry said and coaxed Louis to lie on his back and settled on top of him with his thigh pushed in between Louis’. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be a part of a whole. If their heartbeat would sync up if they stayed like this long enough.

“Is this okay?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, you’re okay.” And warm. So warm it sent sparks of pleasant heat all the way down Louis’ body. It was hard to think he hadn’t known this boy for years. That he could be so comfortable around him this quickly, this easily.

Harry exhaled softly against Louis’ collarbones and ran his fingertips lightly from Louis’s shoulder down to the inner bend of his elbow.

“By the way, I don’t usually do this,” Louis said, safe in the knowledge Harry couldn’t see his embarrassed face. How overwhelmed he felt.

“What’s that?”

“This whole, ‘letting people touch me as much as you do’ thing.” Louis closed his eyes, listening to the calm staccato of Harry’s heart. “Must be witchcraft.”

“Got me there,” Harry mumbled against Louis’ chest. “I’ve been catfishing you. I’m actually a vengeful old witch. Taking my revenge in form of cuddles.”

Unease stirred in Louis’ chest, his heartbeat picking up. He blinked, clutched the back of Harry’s shirt.

_‘You think you can take what’s mine? How about I take what’s yours?’_ Black eyes and fire and laughter. Red dripping down his knuckles.

“You okay, Lou?”

He was spared answering by a swift knock on his door before it was pushed open. He blinked, unsettled, hoping Harry didn’t feel the tremor under his skin.

“Well, who’s this then? Is this the famous Emmy?” Harry said, delighted as he sat up, bringing Louis up with him. 

He watched as Harry knelt down next to his sister and kissed her hand, which looked so endearingly tiny in Harry’s massive one that Louis couldn’t help but smile, pushing back the echo of the voice in his head. He must have dreamt it at some point and only remembered it now. 

Emmy grinned up at Harry, already smitten. Always good to know the zero resistance to Harry’s charm ran in the family.

And even though he liked having Harry all to himself, spending the rest of the day pressed against his side as Emmy put tiny glittery bows in Harry’s hair was just as good.

Later that night when Harry had already gone home and Emmy gave Louis her drawing of him and Harry with hearts instead of eyes, maybe he pinned it on his wall and it didn’t feel wrong. 

Maybe this time he’d sleep all right.

*****

He knew he was dreaming the second he opened his eyes and found himself standing in the middle of a heavily ornate living room with fire blazing in the fireplace. He was holding a tray with a teacup and a scone balanced precariously on top. Before he could even collect his thoughts, his feet moved forward, right past a grand piano with a sheet thrown over the top, little white stockings covering up the wooden legs.

Just a few months ago when the house had been empty, they’d sat on the wooden bench when he’d tried to teach Louis how to play. In the end he’d ended up playing Louis’ body. Remembering it _hurt._

The woman sitting in the armchair by the fire didn’t acknowledge him at all. She was dressed in somber blue, a tight corset that kept her back ramrod straight flaring out into a heavy floor-length skirt that didn’t seem comfortable at all. She didn’t seem to mind, brows furrowed and a lost look in her eyes as she stared into the fire. 

The crow’s feet and dark shadows under her eyes made her seem older than she probably was.

“You can leave it,” she said, startling him into moving again. He put the tray down on the small wooden table by her side and waited to be dismissed, just standing there silently.

“Dr. Gull said,” she drew in a heavy breath, “he said only God’s miracle can save him now.” She picked up the teacup and cradled it against her chest with both hands, not drinking. “There’s no such thing as miracles.”

Louis didn’t answer, knew it wasn’t his place, his throat too tight to talk anyway.

“Look at me saying blasphemous things. To a servant, nonetheless. If Margaret saw, she’d have me sent to Bedlam.” 

She looked at him for the first time then, chin jutted out stubbornly, but there was something in her eyes that almost made him drop the tray. 

Fear. 

Louis had never seen her afraid, not in front of anyone, least of all someone so far below her station. He wished so desperately he could be up there rather than here. 

“He thinks I don’t know. That I am blind to his heart’s affections.” She smiled, self-deprecatingly. “A mother always knows. There is a reason why he has never courted anyone, isn’t there?”

He held her probing gaze even though he wanted nothing more than to duck his to the ground.

“I think you should bring him up some Laudanum. Make him…” She fell silent and turned away again. 

Louis walked out slowly but raced towards the medicine cabinet the second he was out of sight. He didn’t care about the dubious look from the kitchen maid or his own position in this house. Didn’t care about anything but the boy lying up in his bed with curtains drawn halfway shut.

“You,” he breathed out the moment Louis walked into the room. The boy smiled weakly, curly hair matted to his sweaty temples and forehead. “Apologies for looking so awful when you’re such a vision yourself.”

Louis’ mouth strained to smile, his chin quivering with the effort to not start crying. “You could never look awful, don’t be a fool.”

“A fool, you say? Thought I was a duke. This kind of insolence warrants a punishment. Maybe a good spanking.” A wheezing cough rattled his lungs, colour draining from his already sallow face when it wouldn’t _stop._

Louis rushed to his bedside and sat down, heart hammering against his ribcage as he counted drops of Laudanum in his head, propping up the boy’s head and spooning them carefully into his mouth. He wiped the droplets of blood off the corner of the boy’s mouth with his thumb. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Don’t,” the boy said weakly, clammy hand pushing Louis’ away. “You’ll fall ill too.”

“I don’t care,” Louis said, lying down on the mattress and resting his head on the boy’s frail shoulder. Everything about him had gotten so small and fragile and breakable. As if just a faintest breath could shatter him to pieces. 

Louis just wanted to hold him close and squeeze him tight and never let go. He couldn’t really do any of those things. “I don’t want to be here without you.”

“Love,” he said and Louis could feel hot tears squeeze out from beneath his own eyelids at the gentle touch of fingers at the nape of his neck. He needed to be strong for both of them, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “Don’t make this harder than it… already is.”

Louis shuddered out a laugh into the curve of the boy’s shoulder that hardly even smelled like him anymore. He smelled like sweat and sickness and death, and Louis cried because no matter how tight he tried to hold on, it felt as if he was clutching air.

“We can… m-maybe the country air would do you good. Try a different doctor. Do som—”

“It’s too late. I wouldn’t,” he swallowed hard, “Wouldn’t survive the journey.”

“But I love you,” Louis whispered and pressed his cheek against the boy’s hollow one. 

“I love you too.” His eyes were feverish and wet with tears, the unspoken _we could never have been together the way we wished anyway_ hanging in the humid air.

As Louis pressed a desperate kiss to his blood-dotted mouth, bittersweet like pennies, he knew he’d remember him forever, even after his own death.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Harry voice] I love the pain (pls don't yell at me I am fragile). And on a little nerdy sidenote, Dr. Gull is an actual doctor who worked for royal families in the 19th century Victorian England.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Drinking a whole bowl of liquor leads to headaches, Liam supports Louis, little children are evil matchmakers and practice kissing only leads to more feelings.

It was still dark outside when he woke up, his T-shirt sticking to his sweat-damp back.

He rolled onto his belly and kicked the duvet off, dizzy, exhaustion weighing down his bones.

He was just about to check the time on his phone when he heard it.

Something crashed downstairs.

He jolted and sat up, wiped a shaky hand down his face.

His phone read 4:04.

Slowly, Louis swung his legs over the edge of the bed and aimed his phone at the floor to light his way, the carpet fuzzy under his feet. He’d go check on Emmy just to make sure she didn’t wake up. It was probably just Dad, unable to sleep just like Louis was.

The corridor was dark and quiet and eerie and he wouldn’t have admitted to anyone that he hurried to Emmy’s room like a scared child. That sometimes when he wandered out of his room late at night, he felt like the walls of the house were breathing. Watching him silently. 

When he peeked into Emmy’s room, her duvet was thrown aside and she was nowhere to be seen. 

It must have been her, then. Loitering around downstairs god knew why.

He padded down the staircase on silent feet. By the time he reached the bottom, his soles were cold and he was in a strange limbo between wide-awake and dead tired.

Brilliant.

Light from the fridge spilled over the tiled kitchen floor as someone opened it then closed it again. He saw a flash of Emmy’s golden hair, tinted blue by the moonlight filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Emmy?” he whispered, padding towards the kitchen and leaning his weight against the arch of the door frame.

She jumped and spun around, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” he asked, rubbing at the slightly crusty corner of his eye. “It’s late.”

“I got thirsty,” she said, arms folded behind her back. She was wearing her snowman slippers and a matching onesie. Louis was too tired to argue with her.

“I left a bottle of water in your room, bug,” he told her, holding out his hand. “You should be in bed, not hovering around here like a bloody ghost.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and said quietly, “I’m not a ghost.”

“Obviously,” Louis said, wondering how much coffee he’d have to drink in the morning to feel at least vaguely more alive. “Come on, off to the bed with you.”

She seemed torn between staying and going, glancing over her shoulder before she finally relented and walked over to him. When she grabbed his hand, her fingers were sticky. 

Right. Thirsty. 

She was probably down here sneaking sweets. Louis couldn’t be arsed to make her go brush her teeth at 4-bloody-am in the morning, so he just sighed and led her up to her room, tucking her in.

“Stay,” he told her, arching his eyebrow to convey how serious he was.

She blinked at him innocently from her mound of blankets. “Goodnight, Lou.”

“Goodnight,” he said with a shake of his head and scampered back to his own bedroom, blindly washing off his sticky hand and falling straight back into bed.

He had a feeling the rest of the night was going to be a struggle.

*****

He could taste the dirt in his mouth, his skin itching under the layer of dried sweat and blood soaked into his heavy blue coat.

The blood wasn’t his.

The night had fallen some time ago, the sun sinking below the horizon to submerge the forest in darkness. He didn’t know how long he’d been running, tripping over tree roots, his heavy uniform weighing him down, dragging him towards the ground. He couldn’t stop running. Couldn’t. If he did, he’d die. He wasn’t far away enough from the western frontier. Not nearly enough from the battlefield.

_Keep going, keep going, keep going._

It played in his head over and over again, his legs numb with the strain he’d been putting on them for far too long. He still had his rifle slung over his shoulder but it was out of bullets and if he got jumped, that would be it.

He needed to find cover, needed water and rest and stop feeling as though he had hellhounds nipping at his heels, ready to rip him apart.

_You’re a deserter. You’re already dead._

Louis stumbled over a rock and crashed into a tree, the rough bark skinning his palms. He bit down on his cry and leaned his weight against the tree, breathing through the pulsing pain in his hands, in his entire body.

He had no idea where he was. He might as well have been heading into the enemy territory. Further away from his mother and sisters and—

He couldn’t think of that. Not right now.

He pushed himself away from the tree and fought through his exhaustion, wandering deeper and deeper into the dark woods.

Sweat dripped down his temples and he had to blink to clear the fog in his mind, trembling fingers unbuttoning his constricting coat.

He almost missed it.

A few more mindless steps into the forest and he’d have walked right past the little shack tucked in between the trees. Even in the dark, he could see the little broken window and the roof that wasn’t far away from caving in.

It looked abandoned.

Louis gripped his weapon and tried to even out his harsh breaths as he walked over to it on tired feet, a twig snapping under his boot.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, the wind rustling the leaves. He told himself the darkness was his friend, a place where he could hide. It was the daylight he had to fear.

Louis peeked through the window and saw nothing but the dusty square of space with a cot and some sparse broken furniture, devoid of life.

He should have felt the danger the second he pried the door open and crossed the threshold, but he didn’t. Too exhausted, too close to giving up entirely.

He heard the click of a gun being cocked before he even heard the voice.

“Take another step and I’ll shoot.”

There was a man – a boy, really, just like Louis himself – huddled underneath the window. The right leg of his brown trousers was soaked with blood as he held a too small handkerchief to his upper thigh. 

The gun in his hands shook.

Louis raised his hands, heart racing as he took the boy in, his mind going a mile a minute. He considered those wide, determined eyes, the quiver of the boy’s lips before they were pulled into a harsh line as he steadied the gun and aimed it at Louis’ chest.

He looked beyond exhausted. As though he had nothing to lose.

Neither did Louis. Because no matter how much he’d like to believe he could make it back home to take his sick mother and little sisters and flee the country, he knew he wasn’t ever going to make it past the frontier. Not alive. But damn it he would try.

He lay his rifle down, moving carefully. Trying not to pose a threat.

“You speak French,” Louis said, slowly stretching back to his full height.

The boy set his jaw so tight the muscle in his cheek ticked.

“I will shoot you if I have to,” he said in broken French.

“Will you?” Louis asked, taking a step closer.

The boy’s sallow face was smudged with dirt, his forehead shiny with sweat.

Louis couldn’t remember the last time he felt warm water lapping over his skin, the comforting weight of good food in his belly.

He couldn’t remember what it felt like to laugh.

“Listen, I don’t think I can do this right now, I’m tired,” Louis said, slowly sinking down to the floor. His legs screamed with painful relief. “I didn’t ask to be here.”

The boy swallowed, his arm starting to shake with the effort of keeping the gun at eye level.

“Did you run?” Louis asked, undoing the rest of the buttons on his coat.

“I didn’t ask to be here either. I don’t… war is wrong.”

“And yet you’re pointing your gun at me.” The air inside the cabin was stuffy and damp and Louis felt it stick to his skin, as heavy as the boy’s gaze. “Not very peaceful, if you ask me.”

“You’re the enemy.”

“I’m just… me,” he said, taking off his coat. He shivered, rubbed his hands up and down his arms. “Right now I’m no one.”

The boy faltered and slowly lowered the gun but didn’t drop it to the ground, didn’t shift his eyes away from Louis for one second.

“You’re injured,” Louis nodded at the boy’s thigh. He didn’t say his mother used to be a nurse. Untrained, but still. “You got shot?”

The boy tried to draw his leg up to his chest protectively but changed his mind, hissing in pain at the movement. Now that Louis looked even closer, he saw the dark circles under the boy’s eyes, the exhaustion hollowing out his cheeks and wondered how long he’d been here. How long since he’d last slept.

“I didn’t run,” the boy said suddenly, his brows furrowed as he regarded Louis with a gaze too intense for someone who looked so weak. “I’m not a coward.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Louis said, stretching out his legs, digging the heels of his palms into the sore muscles of his legs to loosen them up. His scrapes left trails of blood on the bright red fabric. “You just… you look tired.”

The boy shifted at that, self-conscious as he ran a hand through his dirty short hair. “You don’t look that much better.”

It startled Louis. The sudden urge to laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I look right dashing. The best I have ever looked.”

The boy seemed confused, eyes darting to the door of the cabin that had shut behind Louis after he’d walked in. He seemed unsure, thrown off balance. He looked back at Louis anyway and said, “Why haven’t you tried to kill me yet? You have a gun.”

Now it was Louis’ turn to look away.

The rifle didn’t have any bullets anymore, but that wasn’t why. Here he was, sitting on the rough cement covered in a thick layer of dust, across from a boy who wore the clothes of the enemy but it wasn’t him that Louis was fighting. It was himself.

“If this is some kind of game, if you’re waiting for me to,” the boy let out a shaky exhale, “let my guard down, just… please don’t. I’m… I can’t do this. Do it quickly.”

“How much blood have you lost to talk so much shit?” Louis said rather harshly, uncomfortable in his own skin, tearing his gaze away from the blood on his hands. Literal and figurative. It had been his only way out, he’d had to. “I won’t do that. I won’t… I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t think you want to hurt me either.”

The boy leaned the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “You shouldn’t trust me.”

“I don’t,” Louis said quietly. “I just have nothing to lose.”

That was a lie. He had too much to lose. There was just next to nothing he could do about any of it, about his mother or sisters or even himself.

“Neither do I,” the boy said, his voice heavy. He moved his leg, his face contorting in pain. He pressed the already soaked handkerchief harder against the wound.

Louis tracked every miniscule change of the boy’s expression, reading him. He’d always been good at observing people when they didn’t know he was looking. 

“My mother used to be a nurse,” Louis said, regarding the boy across from him carefully. Offering an olive branch. “I could… if you want me to. I could have a look. Treat the wound for you.”

The boy opened his eyes and stared at Louis quietly for so long he was starting to squirm.

“Why?” the boy finally asked, bemused as he looked at Louis with suspicion in his eyes.

“Because… I don’t know. Can we just… call it a truce?” Louis slumped, wiped the back of his hand over his brow. “Just for as long as we’re here, can we just… be? I’d much rather you didn’t bleed out on me here. I’ve never been too good at talking to corpses.”

He didn’t expect it at all when the boy said quietly, “All right.”

“Oh.” Louis shook himself out of the stupor and sat up straighter. “Do you want me to… now?”

The boy seemed to consider his next words carefully before he gave a jerky nod and looked away. “Only because… I don’t know what to do with it. And it hurts.”

Louis forced himself to stop staring at the sharp jut of the boy’s jaw and rose to his unsteady feet.

He found some cutlery in a drawer and a bottle of liquor in one of the cupboards with the little door nearly falling off the hinges. There wasn’t much left. One or two swigs maybe.

“That will have to do,” he mumbled to himself and approached the boy, slowly sinking to his knees next to his thigh with a bottle of liquor, a kitchen knife and a rag he’d torn off from the sheets on the cot.

The boy’s leg twitched when Louis touched the edge of the fabric the boy was holding to his wound. “Easy, love. Let me have a look.”

The boy clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut as he slowly lifted the fabric covering his wound. Blood started trickling out and the boy went impossibly paler. It looked like the boy must have cut it open to try to take the bullet out.

“Okay, press down on the wound again.”

The boy did as he was told.

“We need to disinfect this or you might end up losing your leg. Good news is, it doesn’t seem to be in a place too close to your artery.” Louis grabbed the bottle. “Is the bullet all out?”

The boy hesitated then shook his head, breathing harshly through his nose. “Pulled it out. Didn’t get too deep, it got mostly stopped by a flask in my pocket.”

“Drinking on the battlefield?” Louis asked, laying his hand gently above the boy’s knee. “Not very smart.”

The boy frowned. “It was a gift. From my father. It was empty.”

Louis pressed his lips together and said nothing, his tone apologetic as he handed the boy the bottle. “Wish it wasn’t. There’s not much left in this one to dull the pain, but here. Take a sip. It might make this easier.”

Their fingers touched, eyes meeting in silence. The room was so small, so dark Louis found it hard to believe anything outside the cabin existed.

“Come on,” he whispered, uncorking the nearly empty bottle and helped the boy lift it to his parted lips. The heat of his hand resting over Louis’ was burning his skin.

The boy tilted his head back and took a short swallow, his throat bobbing. He coughed and took a shaky breath, pushing the bottle away from his mouth.

Louis put it down on the ground. Yeah, this boy hadn’t done much drinking in his life.

Just as he was about to reach for the knife, a hand touched his, fingers wrapped loosely around Louis’ wrist as the boy turned Louis’ hand palm up.

“You’re hurt too.”

Louis curled his fingers into his palm but the boy wouldn’t let him, trailed his fingertips down the length of Louis’ fingers so he could open his hand again.

“Just a surface scrape,” Louis said into the thick silence. “Fell into a tree.”

“Very graceful.”

It could have been the darkness playing tricks on him but he thought he could see a hint of a smile. He blinked and it was gone.

The hand cradling his was slightly bigger, clammy. When he shivered, it wasn’t because he was cold.

“We should,” Louis cleared his throat, the air somehow heavier in the small space between their bodies, “do this quickly.”

“Okay.” The boy’s fingers left a trail of fire on Louis’ skin when he finally let go. “I’m… I’m scared. What are you going to do?”

“It will be okay,” Louis said quietly, fighting the pull in his chest dragging him into the boy’s gravity. “You’ll have to take your trousers off so I can wash out the wound. I don’t have anything to saw it up with, so we’ll have to… I’ve got a lighter. I’ll have to heat up the blade and press it to the wound to close it. The bleeding isn’t stopping.” 

The boy reached for his belt buckle, the clink of it loud in the silence as he undid it with shaky hands and unbuttoned the fly. His cheeks were red when he looked up. “I can’t… help me?”

“Lift up,” Louis said, resolutely not thinking of the warmth of the skin against his knuckles as he hooked his fingers into the boy’s trousers so he could pull them down. He didn’t realize how close he’d been leaning in until he felt the boy’s breath on his face.

Their eyes met.

Louis swallowed hard and trained his gaze down instead, shifting his focus to the matter at hand. It didn’t make anything better at all.

He tugged the trousers down to the boy’s knees and grabbed the bottle of liquor, straddling the boy’s legs so he wouldn’t jerk out of his hold. Better have it quickly over with.

“I need to disinfect the wound. It will hurt. You can, um… hold onto me if you want.”

The boy just nodded and held onto Louis’ free arm in a strange half-hug, resting his forehead on Louis’ shoulder.

“Okay, that will, um… that will do. Just close your eyes. It will be over in a second, I promise. Here we go. Three, two—”

He tilted the bottle and let the alcohol splash over the deep wound.

The boy bit down on Louis’ shoulder and screamed.

“Stop crying,” Louis heard through the ringing in his ears. A woman’s voice.

When he blinked, he found himself kneeling on a dirty ground in the middle of the woods in broad daylight, the knees of his britches stained with dried mud, a broken figurine clutched in his small hands. The hands of a child.

She stared at him from across the blazing fire, eyes as black as her hair. Her teeth were rotten when she smiled, dirty nails digging into the shoulders of his best friend, holding him in place. “You thought it would be funny to _steal_ from me? To break my things?”

“I meant to give it back, I swear! They bet me I couldn’t—” he held onto the figurine, his pleading gaze never leaving hers, “I didn’t meant to—”

“Excuses. I’ve had enough of you lot coming here, taking my things.”

“Please let him,” he said, shaking, “Let him go. He didn’t… didn’t know.”

She griped the boy’s shoulders tighter, laughed. The sound of it was shrill, almost inhuman, and Louis wished he could just stand up and run, but he couldn’t _leave him here alone with her._

“You’re going to regret what you’ve just done,” she said. “You think you can take what’s mine? How about I take what’s yours?”

“No, please, I’m—”

“Come here or I’ll push him into the fire.” She nudged the boy in her grasp closer to the flames, her eyes wild. “He’s yours, this one, isn’t he? I can _feel_ it.”

“Please just let him go.” Louis staggered up to his feet, the broken figurine falling to the ground. He wiped the back of his hand across his wet eyes, terrified as he approached them. “Please.”

Before he could react, she was shoving his best friend next to him on the ground and drawing a dagger from her ragged skirts. He saw a stripe of red bloom over his forearm before the pain hit. He hissed and stumbled away, crying, blood dripping down his knuckles.

A small hand pulled at his wrist and then they were holding onto each other, running away as fast as their feet could carry them.

Her voice echoed throughout the woods as though she was standing right behind him, whispering into his ear. “You can’t outrun me. I’ll always be one step behind you, making sure the two of you meet each other in every life you live and die young. Die _bloody._ ”

*****

He was out of sorts and in a dire need of tea. Proper cuppa, none of that watered down swill sold in the school cafeteria. His grumbling was lost in the depths of his locker.

Before he could push off the locker completely and at least try to pretend to brave the day, someone slung his arm over his chest from behind. It was just a bit sad that he knew it was Harry before he even got pulled against a warm solid chest. 

It was even sadder that it made him feel ten times better than any tea ever could.

“Hi,” Harry said, his nose grazing the shell of Louis’ ear. He tried not to lean into Harry too much, nervous fingers flicking up to smooth his fringe to the side. He couldn’t help but think _I’ve kissed you, I know how sweet you taste._

“How are you today?” Harry asked him.

“A bit shit,” Louis said, shaking his thoughts. “You need to be a lot grumpier in the mornings.”

Harry turned him around until they were face to face and Louis had nowhere else to look but the concerned slump of Harry’s mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, rubbing up and down Louis’ arms, his warmth soaking into Louis’ flesh through the fabric of his hoodie.

“Just didn’t sleep very well, it’s all right.”

“You don’t sleep well often, do you?” 

Harry pulled him into a warm hug, one hand rubbing comforting circles into Louis’ back under the hood and Louis had to fight the memory of Harry’s lips pressed so sweetly against his own again. 

“It’s not that tragic. I’ll live,” he mumbled into Harry’s shoulder, eyes slipping shut, heart tripping. “It is what it is.”

He could fall asleep right now, just like this.

“My, um… my mum. Maybe she could help you. She’s good with, like, herbs and stuff. I could ask her.”

Louis burrowed into Harry’s warmth and shook his head, wondering how Harry could make him feel so out of sorts and so at home at the same time “I’m sure she’s got enough worries of her own to add mine to it.”

“But it’s no trouble,” Harry insisted. “I just want to help you.”

“I’m not sure any tea could help me, love. I’ve tried, you know. All kinds. They’re just… they don’t help. No sleeping pills either.”

Harry fell quiet, squeezing Louis tighter. “Sorry I’m so useless.”

“No.” Louis frowned, pulling away so he could look Harry in the eye, to make sure Harry knew just how serious Louis was. “Don’t say that. You shouldn’t even be thinking about this. Don’t worry about me, all right? I’ll be fine.”

Harry just looked at him, taking a breath as though to say something, but instead he just let it out and glanced around the emptying corridor. They should be getting to classes, not standing around here having a talk too deep for so early in the morning.

“We should skip,” Harry said suddenly, catching Louis’ hand in his but not pulling. Just waiting. “We’ve both got English Lit anyway, we won’t miss anything important.”

“Didn’t know you were clairvoyant,” Louis teased, trying to ignore the way his palm was starting to sweat. How electric it felt to be holding Harry’s hand like this, as though they belonged together. “I feel like Sandy from _Grease_ , being seduced onto the wrong path in life.”

“Does that make me Danny then?” Harry asked, impish and dimpling.

_Well, we’re not dating, are we?_ Louis almost said, his cheeks warm. He should stop holding Harry’s hand, fooling himself into thinking they were suddenly something more.

He should.

“Nah,” Louis said in the end, touching the tip of his shoe to Harry’s. “If anything, you’re Rizzo.”

“Why?”

Louis forced his gaze away from the pout of Harry’s lower lip. “Because you’re curly.”

His fingers were twisted around the little strands curling around Harry’s ears in the next few seconds. Apparently, his self-control only stretched so far. “Look at these curls. Absolutely awful.”

He hoped Harry knew just how beautiful he was. Louis wanted selfishly to be the one to tell him every day. “Your hair has springy bits, did you know?”

“The only reason you like me, isn’t it?”

“It is. You better never cut your hair or this friendship is over.”

Harry just smiled lazily and leaned into his touch like a cat looking for a petting. “I can’t believe you only like me for my curls.”

Suddenly too aware of where they were, what they were _doing_ – standing in the middle of the corridor holding hands, so close Louis could feel the cadence of Harry’s steady breaths – Louis let his hand fall and cleared his throat. “That is an outrageous lie. I also like you for your dimples.”

“We should go before someone catches us,” Harry said, his voice warm.

At this rate, Louis’ heart was going to bruise his ribcage. He should stop wanting so much all the time.

“Where should we go?” Harry asked.

“Depends,” Louis said, walking towards the exit with purpose. If he didn’t act suspicious, nobody would suspect him. It usually worked. “Do we want to skip one class or all of them?”

Harry’s shoulder bumped into Louis’ as he leaned in close. His breath smelled like the minty gum he always chewed too loudly with his mouth open. 

Louis shouldn’t find that endearing.

“All of them?” Harry asked, so of course, there was only one way to answer that.

“Well, if you insist.”

*****

“Lou, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Shush,” Louis hopped on his bicycle and glanced over his shoulder at Harry, who was standing there idly, pigeon-toed and skeptical. “Get on, loser.”

“One time I rode on the back of a bicycle with my cousin in Cheshire and my shoe got caught in the wheel and I fell. And my shoe got ruined. It was a nice shoe, I liked it.”

Louis had to hold back a laugh. “See? That just means you know to keep your feet away from the wheel.”

The crease between Harry’s brows deepened. “We could walk? Or take the tube? Or even a bus?”

“I hate the tube and it’s like one stop.” Louis put his foot on the pedal. “I’m giving you two choices. Either you get behind me or you’re running after me.”

“Maybe I’ll just go back to class.” Harry lifted his chin, a smile playing on his lips.

Louis arched his eyebrow and couldn’t help but smile when he heard Harry huff as he sat on the little rack behind Louis’ seat. 

“If anything happens to me, you’re explaining it to my mother,” Harry told him, hooking his chin over Louis’ shoulder as he held onto Louis’ waist.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, I’ll be careful. Promise. It’s only about a twenty-five minute ride anyway.”

*****

By the time they got to Louis’ house, Louis might as well have had Harry’s hands clutching at him in panic imprinted into his waist. When Louis locked his bike in the garage and turned back to Harry trailing after him, he seemed to have lost a couple shades of colour in his face. They might have hit a bump or two that Louis hadn’t noticed but honestly, other than that it had been a smooth ride. For the most part.

“I am never riding with you anywhere ever again. My knees are all wobbly,” Harry said, gripping Louis’ shoulder. “Please tell me you don’t have a driving license.”

“Not yet,” Louis said, tugging at the hem of his hoodie so he wouldn’t tangle his fingers in Harry’s windswept hair. “But if you’re implying I would be a terrible driver, I’m going to have to sue you for slander.”

“You almost drove us into a shrub!”

“I didn’t want to hit that squirrel, it ran out of nowhere!”

They looked at each other in silence and burst into laughter.

“Come on, let’s get in, you baby.”

Harry ducked his gaze, his cheeks pink. Louis wanted to touch Harry’s cheeks to feel the heat of them against his skin, giddy at the thought of making Harry laugh.

Even though he knew none of the staff that came around during the day to take care of the house would tattle on him, Louis still led Harry towards the back entrance of the house so they could quietly sneak in.

*****

They heard the raised voices through the closed door of Louis’ father’s office as soon as they walked up to the second floor.

“No, you don’t understand! She’s still here! I can—”

“Stop,” Louis’ father said, voice booming. “You’re fucking insane. Just because you two used to do whatever it is that you did doesn’t mean you can come here and spew this kind of nonsense to me. Have you no _respect_?”

Louis tiptoed closer, vaguely aware of Harry standing still in his spot behind him.

“It’s not me who lacks respect, Thomas. She needs help. _My_ help. Fucking _let me_.”

“What she needs is peace and what you need,” there was a pause, “is help. You should go.”

“Whatever it is that’s keeping her here… you’re going to regret pushing me away. The way you’re acting… you’re not the man you used to be.”

Even though the closed door of the office, Louis could practically feel the tension between his father and his guest.

“We all change. Speaking of, I have to get back to the office. I can give you a ride. That’s as much as I’m willing to do.”

When Louis heard footsteps approaching, he spun on his heel and hurried back to Harry, grabbing his wrist as he went. “Come on, don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

He heard the door open just as they slipped into his bedroom, backs pressed to the wall. Harry’s hand was still in his.

It wasn’t until he heard his father and his visitor walk down the stairs that he let out a deep breath. “That was close. Sorry, I didn’t know he’d be here. He was supposed to be at the office all day.”

Harry looked at him wide-eyed. “I’m like, pretty much hundred percent sure that was my mum in there.”

“What?” He turned to face Harry fully. “How would they even know each other?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said quietly. “But it sounded all… weird. The stuff she was saying. I’ve never heard her actually curse before.”

“Who is ‘she’? The one they were talking about?” Louis asked even though the chances of Harry knowing anything were slim to none.

“I’ve no idea.”

Louis slumped against the wall then realised with a start that he was still holding Harry’s hand. He could feel heat rushing to his cheeks as he let go. “So, um, anyway… we’ve got a whole day ahead of us. What do you want to do?”

“Let’s bake? Yeah, let’s do that.”

*****

They hadn’t burned the kitchen down.

Louis didn’t tell Harry that he’d considered that a real possibility.

He leaned his elbows on the kitchen island, flour in his hair, grinning when he saw the white imprint of his hand on Harry’s bum as he took out plates from the cupboard above the sink. Nobody said Louis had to be a neat assistant.

“How do you even know how to bake?” he asked as Harry settled down on a stool across from him and started cutting the brownies into neat little squares, transferring them onto two plates. His hair was held back with rainbow hairband and he was dressed head to toe in Louis’ comfy clothes.

“I think the question should be, is there anything I can’t do?” Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the corner of his mouth twitching into a crooked smile. “I don’t think there is.”

They’d had to run out to the shops to buy a few things and Harry would pretend to be annoyed every time Louis had tried to hide something extra in their basket. He still couldn’t quite hide his smile as he’d pretended to scold Louis for throwing five packets of gummy bears in.

“Nobody likes gummy bears this much,” Harry had protested but hadn’t put them back.

“If you say so, Harrybo,” Louis had replied and twisted away when Harry had tried to tickle him.

Louis had ended up buying a lot more that they’d actually needed for the cake, including Gherkins and the rainbow hairband, among many more random items. But Emmy loved the Gherkins and Harry loved the hairband, so it had been money well spent, as far as Louis was concerned.

Outside the windows, the sun was slowly swimming towards the horizon. Emmy was staying at her friend’s house for a birthday sleepover and his father had come home about an hour ago, footsteps echoing down the foyer as he’d walked past the kitchen and disappeared up the stairs.

He’d never stopped, probably hadn’t even noticed them.

“They cooled down a bit. You can try some now,” Harry said, looking almost nervous as he pushed a plate of brownies towards Louis. As though Louis could do anything but love them, even if they ended up tasting like salted stones.

They didn’t. They were—

“Fucking incredible,” Louis said, stuffing more into his mouth, moaning because bloody hell, they were genuinely _amazing_. “Harry, these are _so good_. Best brownies I’ve ever had and I’m not being funny. Are you even real?”

“As real as you’re disgusting. Swallow first, please.” Harry pretended to glare as he bit into his own brownie, also talking with his mouth full. The hypocrisy.

There were so many things Louis wanted to say to the swallowing thing. Harry must have seen in it on his face because he blushed bright red and shook his head. “There will be no spitting. Spitters are quitters.”

Louis laughed so hard he almost choked. Harry dropped the rest of his brownie on a plate, rushing over in a panic to slap Louis’ back.

“Christ,” Louis said once he swallowed and caught his breath, letting out a giggle that he definitely wasn’t embarrassed about. “Harry, you slag.”

Now that Harry knew Louis wasn’t about to suffocate and die, he switched to rubbing soothing circles into Louis’ back, as though he wasn’t even aware of it. “Don’t know what you’re on about. I was talking about brownies. Completely innocent.”

His cheeky grin said otherwise.

Louis felt Harry’s fingers leaving his back and the urge to keep him there was stronger than his self-preservation. He grabbed Harry’s belt loop and pulled him close again. 

Harry stumbled a little, catching himself on the kitchen island. “Lou, what—”

“It’s rude to do that and then just leave. I feel used,” Louis said, trying to hold back a smile. “A little longer please?”

He pushed the empty plate away and slumped over the kitchen island with his head resting on his folded arms. He knew he’d won when he heard a sigh and a scrape of the stool being dragged over to Louis’.

“Just a little longer.” Harry squeezed the back of Louis’ neck and sat down. Shivers zipped down Louis’ spine, made him wriggle in his spot as Harry rubbed his back, the warmth of his touch sinking in through the thin fabric of Louis’ T-shirt.

“’S nice,” he mumbled into his arms and closed his eyes. He sounded almost drunk, wished he was brave enough to turn his head to the side and bring Harry down to eye level so he could ask wordlessly, ‘all right, now please touch my mouth with yours again’.

“Yeah?” Harry asked softly, fingertips grazing the bare skin of Louis’ lower back as he reached the bottom of his T-shirt. 

Louis tried to keep his breath steady, humming in agreement. Harry darted beneath his T-shirt, hand warm and gentle as he stroked Louis’ back beneath the fabric. Louis couldn’t speak. His heart was beating wildly against his ribcage and he wondered if Harry could feel it reverberate through his body like a bell and just didn’t mind.

Light fingertips traced the wingtips of Louis’ shoulder blades, the knobs of his spine, the edges of his ribs as Harry caressed his side, hand dipping over the curve of his waist. Louis hadn’t known until now that just being touched like this could make him feel buoyant and short of breath at the same time.

Harry’s thigh pressed against his. “Your skin is so soft.”

“Thank you,” he said shakily, kicking himself as soon as the words touched the tense air. _Thank you?_ What was wrong with him?

“So you agree,” Harry teased and Louis had to bite back an embarrassed laugh, had to resist the urge to say he definitely wasn't soft everywhere.

“Of course,” he said instead, “Don’t you know I’m flawless by now?”

Harry dragged his hand up, fingertips brushing over the nape of Louis’ neck, the T-shirt lifting up to Louis’ waist. He felt vulnerable, naked in a way that wasn’t physical, and he wasn’t quite sure how to handle it.

“I love that you think you are,” Harry said, voice warm and deep and trembling on a laugh, “but I guess… I guess you come pretty close.”

“Good answer,” Louis said, biting down on the inside of his cheek when Harry lightly scratched down his back. The goosebumps. Fuck, Harry must have felt them. There was no way he hadn’t. Everything about this was good and horrible and too much and not enough. “I might keep you.”

“I hope so,” Harry said quietly and maybe Louis imagined it, maybe he was too far gone, but he felt Harry press a kiss into his shoulder before Harry slid his hand out from underneath Louis’ T-shirt and stood up. “Come on, help me get this mess sorted. Get the rest of the cake into your fridge and clean the dishes.”

“Just a second,” Louis said, pained. It would be a miracle if he got himself under control in five second or less. He didn’t want Harry to see what he’d done to him. How Louis couldn’t even get his back stroked without getting hard in his sweats. Without remembering what it had felt like to have Harry’s lips fall pliant under his.

“Louis,” Harry whined and then he was gripping Louis’ upper arm and pulling him off the stool. Before Louis could catch himself they were colliding, and _shit_. Shit.

“Um,” he jumped back but Harry’s fingers remained curled around Louis’ elbow, brows furrowed, eyes growing slowly wider and wider. It would have been comical if Louis wasn’t about to keel over and die. “Harry—”

“Oh.”

Louis’ face was about to burst into flames. He’d be on the shitty news channel tomorrow as the dead lad with a stiffy. But no. The universe wasn’t nearly as kind. He was still standing here, very much alive and hard, with a vivid memory of being pressed up against Harry’s hip just a second ago. 

“Harry, it’s not, it wasn’t—”

“So, you’re not—” Harry’s cheeks turned pink, his grip slackening, just enough for Louis to be able to wriggle free. He didn’t. He dropped his gaze. “Lou, it’s _fine_ —”

“No, it’s not.” He’d never felt more humiliated. Not even when he’d peed his pants in front of his classmates in elementary because he’d drank too much soda and his teacher had refused to let him go to the loo. “It’s not.”

Harry tugged at the bottom of Louis’ T-shirt, knuckles bumping into Louis’ hip. Louis refused to look up from the _Deep Purple_ logo on Harry’s chest, the black of the T-shirt so faded it was more of a dark grey. Louis shouldn’t like to see Harry wear his things this much.

“Lou, it happens. I’m, like—”

“Can we not talk about it? Please? Before I die? I’ve already had the ‘your body is changing talk’, I do _not_ need a repeat.”

Harry let out a strangled noise that might have been a laugh. He tugged on Louis’ arm, brought him closer until their toes were bumping and he could feel the heat of Harry’s body invading his personal space. He watched Harry’s chest rise and fall on a quick breath and wondered why he hadn’t run off yet.

“Was it,” Harry started, unsure. “Was it because I, um… was it _nice_?”

Louis scoffed, his throat tight when he finally met Harry’s eyes. “Harry—”

“I just, you weren’t the—”

One second Louis was standing in the kitchen and the next he was blinking his eyes open in a dark decrepit room, dirty sheets bunched up under his back, the air chilly and damp. There was a body pressing him down into the mattress but he wasn’t scared. It was the opposite.

“You’re not the only one,” said an unfamiliar voice that shouldn’t feel so familiar, lips damp on his neck, kissing over the beat of his pulse. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, with us. I just, I want you, I want you so m—”

“Louis?”

He blinked, the world rushing back. He wobbled a little on his feet, grateful for the steadying grip Harry had on his arm.

“Louis, are you okay?”

“I’m,” he shook his head, tried to clear his muddled brain. “I’m, um, yeah. I think, just… just a head rush. Must be all the blood coming back up where it belongs.”

Harry laughed a little though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He seemed like there was something he wanted to say, but Louis got there first.

“I’m sorry, for… you know. Can we please just forget it ever happened? Please? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Harry nodded shortly and let go of Louis’ arm and for a second Louis faltered, feeling like he’d done something wrong.

“You didn’t, you know,” Harry said, casting him a sideways glance as they started to clean up the mess. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

Louis turned around to stack dishes into the washing machine so Harry wouldn’t see his reddening cheeks. 

“I’m glad,” he said once he felt more in control, giving Harry a soft smile.

Harry smiled back, but it didn’t look quite right.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My search history after this chapter: WWI map of France, how to cautherise a bullet wound, why are Harry and Louis so in love. I still don't know the answer to the last one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I'm updating?! Incredible. (I'm a human trashbag, I am sorry, there was work and a fic for a challenge BUT HERE IT IS)

Louis was stalling.

The dishes were clean, the brownies put away in the fridge and he’d ended the call with Emmy about ten minutes ago. Yet he was he still down here, sitting in the kitchen, fiddling with a glass of water even though Harry was up in his room, waiting.

_In his room._ Where they’d _kissed_.

Louis wanted to do it again. Just lie down next to Harry on the bed and pull him close, kiss him until their lips ached, the end credits of some shitty film rolling down the screen in the background by the time they parted.

Instead they’d probably end up sitting next to each other with enough distance to fit another body between them, trying to pretend Louis hadn’t got a boner just because Harry had touched his back.

Brilliant.

No point in putting it off. 

He pushed the glass away and grabbed his phone, getting up to his feet. He walked up the stairs, a few doors away from his bedroom when his father’s office opened. 

They both stood still, staring at each other, the dim lights in the corridor softening the harsh edges. Sometimes Louis wondered if his father forgot he wasn’t living alone. He was still wearing his work clothes, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, creasing, cuffs rolled up to his elbows unevenly. Funny how Louis hadn’t really noticed the wisps of grey in his father’s hair until now.

“I have a friend over, if that’s all right,” Louis broke the tense silence, wondering how it had all happened. How the wall between them had grown so tall. Maybe it had been a gradual process, and maybe it had happened all at once the glue that had been holding their family together was gone.

It seemed impossible to fix.

“I’ve been thinking,” his father said as though he hadn’t heard Louis or was choosing to ignore him. “I’ve been thinking about why it’s so hard to talk to you.”

He closed the distance between them until Louis could smell the whisky he must have been drinking. This was the first time in weeks, maybe even months, his father had looked at him as if he could actually see him. It unnerved him, made him want to turn away from the sudden scrutiny.

“You haven’t even tried,” Louis said quietly. 

Neither had he.

“I can’t,” his father said, reaching out as though to touch Louis on the cheek, but his hand wilted down before he could and Louis hated himself for feeling disappointed. For wanting to be close. “It’s so hard to even look at you sometimes.”

Louis’ heart was racing to the point he felt a little sick with it. He wanted to leave before his father said anything else, but his feet remained rooted to the floor. “What is wrong with you? What _happened_ to you? We all miss her, that doesn’t give you a right to act like—”

“Like what?” His father laughed, the sound of it sharp and unpleasant.

“Like you,” Louis started, willing his voice not to shake, “like you gave up on everything. On _us_. Do you even remember you have kids that fucking,” _need you_ , “that still live here? What would mum—”

“It doesn’t bloody matter what she would think because she’s dead. She’s _dead_ and,” his father reeled back, raked a hand through his already dishevelled hair, “you’re still here. I can’t stand to look at you, you look so much like her and you’re _here_ , we all are, and she’s not—” he cut himself off, shaking his head.

The words plummeted into Louis’ stomach like ice. “You’re drunk.”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? No matter what I do, I can’t look at you without… without thinking that I wish it was her standing here right now instead of you, that you could trade places. I never wanted to have kids in the first place, but she did, and I loved her. I loved her so fucking much.”

Louis was going to be sick. He was going to hunch over and throw up all over his father’s expensive slacks, could taste the bile in the back of throat, feeling cold down to his fingertips. “You don’t mean that.”

“I wish I didn’t. I wish I could stop missing her,” his father said, taking a step back. “She would have hated me for saying it. But she’s not here, is she? She fucking _left_.”

“She didn’t choose to, you selfish prick,” Louis gritted past his teeth, his vision blurring with tears, his chest hot with it. He’d never wanted to hit his father more than he did now, seeing him standing there so weak and angry and drunk. The words _I wish you’d died instead of her_ leaped to the tip of Louis’ tongue.

He swallowed them back.

“Doesn’t matter,” his father said, anger draining out of his body. When Louis was a kid his father had always seemed so big and powerful and invincible. Now he looked like none of those things. He looked as though he might have regretted his words, but all he said was, “Doesn’t matter at all. She’s not _here_.”

He turned around and just walked away without a backward glance. Left Louis right there in the middle of the corridor, feeling so queasy and shaken he could barely stand. 

The last thing he wanted was for anyone – for Harry – to see him like this, but he couldn’t just hide. He tried to steady his breaths, willed himself to stand up as straight as if each of his vertebrae didn’t feel as though it had been crushed to powder, his bones made of paper.

For a while he stared at his own hand – clammy fingers curled around the doorknob –and swallowed hard. 

_Pull yourself together._

Harry was lying belly down on his bed with his face half burrowed into Louis’ pillow, blinking sleepily. “Is Emmy all right? Not scared being at someone else’s house, is she?”

“Nah, she’s… all right. She’s having fun.” There was nothing he wanted more than to be touched and told _I love you_ , but he feared he’d break down if he was. He couldn’t stand the thought of Harry seeing him like that.

“What do you w-want to watch? I’ve got… I’ve got _Gogglebox_? And um, some flicks and a few TV shows.” He hurried over to the shelf beneath the TV and thumbed over his favourite old DVDs, taking deep measured breaths, glad the only thing Harry could see was his back. “Or we could… get something off the net.”

“Put on anything, I’m sure I’ll like it.” He paused. “Unless it’s a Saw type of horror. I don’t like those.”

“Okay,” Louis said, nodding. “Yeah, all right.” He blinked at the row of DVDs, hands stilling over the plastic covers. What the fuck had he said he wanted to do?

“Do you want me to help you pick one?”

“No!” Louis swept his fringe to the side with a shaking hand and pulled out the first DVD he got his hands on. _Friends_. “Just. I’ve got it, I think.”

He fumbled with the remote and busied himself with switching the lights off, telling himself he wasn’t doing it so Harry wouldn’t _see._

When he finally turned around Harry was sitting up on his bed, his head tilted as he patted the spot next to him, moonlight slanting over his face through the blinds. He watched Louis carefully. “Come here?”

Louis pulled at the bottom of his T-shirt as he made his way over, his entire face straining with the effort to smile.

“Lou—”

“I’m going to start it.” He sat down and pressed play on the first episode as they leaned back against the headboard, their hips barely touching. He didn’t realise he was trying to rub the persistent ache off his chest until Harry took his hand and held it between his.

“Your hand is cold.”

“Sorry, um, I get cold easily. Should probably start wearing socks more often. Both on my feet and hands,” he tried to joke. It fell flat.

“Want me to warm you up?” Harry asked quietly, as if he was treading on a minefield and speaking too loud could set one off.

“I’m not… I don’t know.” He stared at Harry’s hands rubbing warmth into his and tried to choke back that feeling stretching his lungs. He wanted that more than anything.

When Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ body and lay them down with Louis’ back flush against his chest and nosed at the base of his skull, Louis felt like a volcano with lava surging through his veins. Ready to implode.

“I haven’t seen _Friends_ in ages,” Harry said, his thumb stroking the back of Louis’ hand. He didn’t seem to be aware of it at all. Louis just wanted to turn around and curl into him and pretend his father hadn’t said anything.

“Can you stay until tomorrow?” Louis asked, tucking Harry’s arm closer to his body, hoping it would help holding himself together. “It’s getting late anyway.”

“If you don’t mind?” He huffed against Louis’ nape. “I can text my mum to let her know.”

“Please.” He wished he could relax, that he could slump into Harry’s body and let his limbs uncoil. Wished he’d stop feeling as though he was holding his breath even though he was breathing.

He didn’t want to be left alone right now.

“Okay,” Harry mumbled, tightening his arms around Louis. He seemed to be holding his breath too.

“I’m fine,” Louis said to a question Harry hadn’t even asked.

“Are you?” He ran his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand, so careful. “You’re shaking.”

“’M not, ‘m just… still a little cold.”

Harry tugged the blanket free from beneath their bodies and wrapped it around them, his front curved to Louis’ back with no space to spare.

“Better, Lou?”

Why did that make Louis want to cry?

“Yeah, yeah, cheers.”

“We can just watch the telly,” Harry said, tucking his socked feet in between Louis’ bare ones, “Don’t have to talk at all. I’ll just… be here. Watching and being quiet. Pretending I don’t know you’re upset.”

Louis laughed wetly and his eyes felt hot and telling himself to just breathe didn’t seem to be helping.

“Want to tell me?”

Louis just shook his head. How could he possibly tell Harry that his own father didn’t even want him or Emmy at his house. That maybe he never had.

Harry held him tight and kissed the back of his neck, the laugh track filling the silence. They watched the TV quietly, Harry’s knees slotted to the backs of Louis’. There wasn’t an inch of space to spare. Harry was warm and safe and it shouldn’t be this easy to find comfort in his arms, to feel like they’d done it every day for years.

Halfway into the second episode, Louis found himself dozing off, the pressure in his chest having eased a little, mind flickering with images. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, lifting Louis’ bare feet off the dewy grass and swinging him around, sun beating down on his face. 

Lips grazed his ear, whispering, “You’re as light as a feather. Where do you even put all the pastries I know you steal from the kitchens?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I assure you I have stolen nothing.”

His feet met the ground and then he was spun around, hands cradling his face. “No, just my heart, I reckon.”

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said,” Louis said but leaned up on his tiptoes to steal a kiss anyway. It was worth the risk.

They parted on a breath.

“I don’t want to go to the ball tonight. I don’t,” warm lips kissed the corner of Louis’ slumped mouth, “Don’t want to dance with all the ladies and pretend… pretend I haven’t found someone already. I don’t want to marry anyone but you.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Louis said gently. “We can’t… you know we can’t. I can’t give you anything. Not an heir. Not… You can’t marry a man, love. A, um, a servant.”

“Please, it doesn’t matter, I don’t care, we can run away, we can—”

“I know. I know you don’t,” Louis said, kissing the smooth-shaven jaw of the man in front of him. “But the rest of the world does. Your mother does. You can’t… we can’t.”

“I don’t want to go,” he said, as though saying it out loud could change the outcome.

“Just,” Louis swallowed hard, made himself smile. “Bundle up well when you go, yes? I’ve heard it’ll be cold tonight, rainy. Don’t want you to fall ill, not with the coughs going around. We can do anything you like once you’re back, all right? Just us two. Once your mother is in bed. I’ll even let you give me a bath.”

The hands on his waist were holding onto him tightly, as though afraid to let go. “You promise?”

Louis smiled. “I promise. Everything will be all right.”

He startled back into consciousness, blinking his eyes open into the darkness of his bedroom when Harry murmured into his ear, his voice low. “Are you feeling a little better?”

“A bit.” He paused and added, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry for… I’m sorry.”

He’d dreamt something, he knew he had, he just… couldn’t remember now. It wasn’t important anyway.

“Nothing to be sorry for, you know that. Not with me.” 

“I know.” Louis let himself relax into Harry’s arms, his eyes closed. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me something?” Anything so he wouldn’t have to think too much, just listen. “Something nice.”

“Okay,” Harry said, kissing behind Louis’ ear. “I think I’ve got something.”

“Tell me.”

“When I was like ten, I wouldn’t go anywhere without this dumb umbrella hat during the summer. I thought it was so funny. I took it off for one second and a bloody seagull stole it. I was too scared to go get it back.”

“I hope there are photos.”

“There are and they’ll never see the light of the day,” Harry said, a smile in his voice.

“Not even if I ask nicely?”

“Maybe,” Harry allowed, squeezing Louis’ hand, the voices drifting out of the TV in the background. “Not sure I can even find them. I’ll ask Mum.”

Louis nudged Harry’s foot with his own, smiling a little.

“I used to be a baker too,” Harry said. 

“What, did you just take a couple years off school to train for the _Great British Bake Off_?” He tried to picture Harry in a big chef hat and an apron, flour on his cheeks as he frantically stirred a pot of… something. Louis had never been good at baking. “Is that why your brownies were so good?”

“Thanks,” Harry said bashfully, squirming a little behind him. “And I guess I wasn’t exactly a baker, but I did work at a bakery last year. The old ladies that worked there wouldn’t let me anywhere near the oven after I almost set my hairnet on fire on my first day. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Louis promised.

“Good,” Harry said. 

“What else?” Louis asked, lulled by the low thrum of Harry’s deep voice.

After a pause, Harry laughed, his thumb sweeping over the back of Louis’ hand. “When I was seven I asked Santa for boobs because I was jealous of Gemma getting a bra. I wanted one too.”

“Did you get one?”

“No,” Harry said and Louis didn’t have to look to know that Harry was smiling. “’S all right though. I can buy all the lingerie I want now.”

Louis turned on his back so fast his head spun a little. Harry propped himself up on his elbow, hovering over Louis, curls falling into his face. The blanket slipped down to their waists.

“What?” Louis asked, blinking, pulling at the edge of the blanket to give his hands something to do. They were lying so close his knuckles brushed over Harry’s belly. It tensed under Louis’ touch, Harry’s breath catching in his chest before he exhaled it on a shaky laugh.

“Just kidding, Lou. I mean, if Mum saw, she wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. It’d be too embarrassing.”

“Would you though?” Louis asked, suddenly too aware of lying under Harry like this, his side burning from the heat of Harry’s body. “Would you buy some?”

“Why?” Harry asked, lying down on his side, his thigh hooked over Louis’, arm draped over Louis’ waist. They were sharing a pillow and if Louis wanted to, he could easily lean in close and nudge their lips together. He didn’t. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Not for me, but like,” he could feel his face turning red, couldn’t stop thinking of Harry hiding something silky or lacy under his borrowed sweatpants, “just, might look nice. On other people.”

_On you._

“Couldn’t fit my bits in it, I don’t think.”

“They make ones for blokes too, you know. Like, lacy boxers and whatnot. So your balls don’t fall out.”

“You seem to know a lot about the subject for someone who hasn’t dabbled in it.” His fingers found the dips in between Louis’ ribs, fitting perfectly. Louis wondered if Harry could feel his every breath like this.

“Um, I… I was just bored one night, all right? I can’t be blamed for what I Google when I’m bored.”

Harry muffled his laugh in Louis’ shoulder, hand dragging down Louis’ side to squeeze his hip. “What else do you Google then?”

“I am _not_ telling you.” 

“Oh, come on,” Harry pleaded, biting lightly at Louis’ shoulder. “Tell me. I’ll tell you one too.”

“Christ, fine,” Louis said, already regretting it. He just… couldn’t think straight with Harry so close, touching him. “I, eh… I tried to find out if male nipples can be oversensitive.”

“Does that mean you have—”

“Shush!” Louis squeaked out and grabbed the nearest pillow, hiding his face with it. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Harry tugged the pillow away from his face, a dimple in his cheek. “You do realise I want to find out now, don’t you?”

“I was just curious, it doesn’t mean—”

The pad of Harry’s finger brushed over his nipple through the thin cotton, rubbing slowly but firmly back and forth. Louis dropped his head back on the pillow and gasped, clutching at Harry’s wrist. “Don’t.”

“Lou—”

That touch had shot right to his cock and it took him a moment to catch his breath, to say, “Y-you promised to tell me one too. Don’t cheat now.”

Louis held onto Harry’s hand, placing it on his stomach, away from his nipples. The echo of Harry’s fingertip was hard to shake.

“Well, I usually Google cute cats when I’m sad.”

“Are you kidding me?” He let go of Harry’s hand so he could pinch his thigh lightning quick over the blanket, ignoring the way Harry startled. “You are not giving me bloody cats after all that.”

“But mine is worse,” Harry whined into the pillow.

“Is it something illegal?” He realised he’d left his hand on Harry’s thigh and quickly removed it, unsure what to do with it now. He couldn’t just go back to holding Harry’s hand, could he? He already felt too close, his skin too hot.

He was about to let it fall down to his side when Harry grabbed a hold of it, their fingers intertwined.

“No, it’s not. ‘S just really embarrassing.”

“Out with it,” Louis said quietly, turning his head to the side so he could look Harry in the eye even though it wasn’t the most comfortable for his neck.

“Wanted to know how you could suck yourself off. Or like, come without your hands.”

“Jesus, Harry.” The follow-up question burned on his tongue. “So like, did you?”

“Tried to,” Harry mumbled and Louis could see his cheeks flush even in the dim flickering light of the TV. “Who hasn’t though?”

Louis didn’t call him out on not fully answering the question, unsure if he could handle hearing about it in detail.

“Kinky,” he said, too aware of the weight of Harry’s thigh thrown over his, their joined hands. He desperately willed his palm not to start sweating, wishing he could kick off the blanket completely without looking suspicious. “I used to kind of like… never mind.”

He shouldn’t have started talking in the first place, because Harry was looking at him expectantly now. Harry pulled their hands closer to him and rested the knuckles under his chin. “You can’t just do that. Start off and not finish.”

“It’s lame,” Louis said, twisting around so he lay on his side, face to face. Their legs tangled, toes rubbing against each other under the blanket. “I just… I just used to, like, imagine what it would be like to be with someone. Like, have your own person to try stuff with, you know. To trust someone so much that you could try literally anything.”

Even as he said it, all he could see was Harry’s face. In front of him and in his mind. _I want you to be my person._

“Like what?” Harry asked quietly. “What else besides… you know. Nipple stuff.”

Louis laughed, high-strung and nervous and even though he knew he was just digging the hole under him even deeper, he couldn’t stop. “Just kissing in between doing nothing, kind of like… when you know it doesn’t have to lead anywhere. And just waking up next to someone and shagging each other silly. Whenever, really. However we would want because it would be fine to tell each other everything and do it and laugh if it turns out to be awkward, you know, just… just that.”

Harry looked at him through half-lidded eyes, resting his lips on Louis’ knuckles. “That sounds nice.”

“Told you it was lame,” Louis said, closing his eyes, aching down to his marrow with how much he wanted to kiss Harry again.

“It’s not lame.” He bit Louis’ middle knuckle gently, kissed it in a wordless apology. “I’d like the same thing, because… it sounds safe. Like it would mean something. I think that’s why I… why maybe I haven’t liked kissing people. Maybe because they just weren’t… I didn’t _know_ them. I couldn’t let go with them. Does that make sense?”

_Does that mean you liked kissing me?_ Louis wanted to ask but bit the words back. Right now it didn’t matter, because he had Harry here, so close to him, breathing in the same air and sharing the warmth of each other’s bodies and Louis felt lucky.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

“It was my fault we had to move,” Harry said suddenly, as though making himself voice the words before he could stop himself.

Louis opened his eyes, squeezed his hand. “Why is that?”

“Because,” he swallowed audibly and looked down at their hands instead, “because I had to drop out of school.”

Louis stayed silent, feeling like Harry needed to gather his thoughts before he could say anything else.

“I kissed my teacher,” Harry said, so quietly Louis almost missed it. “He was giving me a ride home because it was raining and I missed the last bus and I… I could tell he liked me and so I went for it when he stopped in front of my house and he… he kissed me back.” His chest rose and fell on a shuddery breath and he still refused to meet Louis’ eyes. “He had a wife, you know. She was friends with my mum, lot younger but… I didn’t _know_. I didn’t know and she saw us. I didn’t even like it, Louis, I ruined everything and I didn’t even—”

“No,” Louis said, pulling Harry so close his breath hit Louis’ chin. “You were fucking what, Harry? Sixteen? Seventeen? He was the adult, not you. He shouldn’t have fucking done it. It was his responsibility not to take advantage. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You should have seen how mum looked at me,” Harry said, bottom lip wobbling. Louis couldn’t stand it. “I wish I could change it. Wish I’d never done it, it was stupid and I liked him and he was young and a man so I thought… I thought maybe if I kissed him I wouldn’t feel so wrong anymore, but it just made everything worse.”

He let go of Harry’s hand so he could pull him into a hug, any hesitance melting away. “You’re not wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Lou. You believe me, don’t you? You don’t think I’m horrible?”

“No,” Louis said right away, rubbing up and down Harry’s back. “No, never. You’re the best person I know. Doesn’t mean you can’t have regrets.”

Harry released a shaky breath, his curls tickling Louis’ face.

“Your ex teacher is a fucking piece of shit though.” He softened, pressed a small kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose. “I love you, yeah?”

“Love you too.”

Louis pulled the blanket back up to their shoulders and turned the volume on the TV down. They’d missed an entire episode.

“We should go brush our teeth,” Harry said, his voice still a little wobbly.

“We will. In a bit.”

They both fell asleep before they could even turn the TV off. Louis dreamt.

*****

He could hear the wooden slats of the floor creak long before the footfalls halted behind his door. He knew those steps, could recognize him just from the sound alone. Measured and careful and a little awkward.

The candlelight cast shadows on the walls.

He threw the book he’d been half-heartedly reading aside and rose to his feet, padding up to the door. He splayed his hand over the shabby wood, would swear he could feel him do the same on the other side right before Louis opened the door.

A man stood there, thick hair falling down to his shoulders, a tie that had been holding the curls back hanging from his ringed fingers. _HarryHarryHarry_ Louis wanted to say.

Harry startled, lashes sweeping over his cheeks as he blinked. “Oh. You’re awake.”

He smelled like cold air and wine but his eyes were clear, his hand steady as he reached out to brush his knuckles down Louis’ cheek.

“Yeah, was reading a bit.”

_Waiting for you._

He didn’t ask how bad the ball was, how dull, how the conversation must have made Harry reach for another glass of wine.

Harry’s eyes lit up and he pushed inside Louis’ servant’s quarters, kicking off his shoes and making home on his bed, legs crossed like a child. He reached for the book, gaze sweeping over the spine. “This one’s my favourite.”

“I know it is. And thank you, you know,” Louis said, settling down next to him on the narrow, lumpy bed. It had stopped feeling like his room months ago, every possible moment spent under Harry’s sheets upstairs. Sometimes they just held each other. “For letting me read them.”

“You can have my entire library, you know that.” He bopped Louis’ nose and smiled, tension draining out of his posture. Louis hated to see him hold himself with so much tension with everyone else. Like a bird locked in a golden cage. “I wish I could spoil you more.”

It was uncommon of servants to be able to read but Louis had always had a thirst for things he shouldn’t want and he’d taught himself when he’d been younger. He still remembered Harry catching him in his library late at night when he’d first started working for the household. He’d nearly knocked the candle over, so startled he’d cursed.

Harry had laughed as though it wasn’t inappropriate of a servant to sneak around the house late at night, looking at books that didn’t belong to them.

“Do you remember? That night when we didn’t know each other yet and you caught me reading a book in the middle of the floor in your library?”

Harry smiled, fond, eyes bright. “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep. And you were so endearing, sitting there with no shoes on, your hair soft. You were just wearing your night shirt and I could see your bare shoulder and I… I had to look away.”

“You flatter me.” He pulled on Harry’s curly lock, twisted it around his fingers. “Remember how you made me read to you?”

“I did. You have a lovely voice.” He nuzzled into Louis’ touch, hands reaching out to pull him close.

“If your mother knew the book you made me read to you the day before yesterday, she’d faint.”

Harry muffled his cackle in Louis’ shoulder, the weight of him pressing Louis down on the bed. “It cost me a small fortune, that one. So worth it. Education is important.”

“I don’t believe that pictures and descriptions of fornicating in multitudes of ways can be considered education.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist and dragged his mouth down the column of his throat. “Isn’t it? I think I have learned a lot.”

“Hm,” Louis said, hips arching off the mattress to meet Harry halfway. He’d been getting hard ever since Harry had mentioned that book. “Maybe you should remind me.”

The candlelight flickered over the sharp angles of Harry’s face, the softness of his mouth. Louis always felt ravenous for another taste.

“Come here,” he said, cradling the back of Harry’s neck to pull him close, their mouths slotting seamlessly. He slid the tip of his tongue over the roof of Harry’s mouth and parted his lips with it, licked in until their tongues met wetly, sparks of pleasure zinging down Louis’ spine.

They kissed deeply, thoroughly, until Louis felt sweat bead along his hairline, his skin too hot under his nightclothes.

“Off,” he said, fingers already worming in between their bodies to work the laces of Harry’s trousers loose.

They rose up to their knees, panting as they watched each other’s hands tug and pull until the clothing fell loose and fluttered to the floor. 

Harry’s skin shone gold in the light and Louis pulled him close, kissed over his collarbones and chest, hands smoothing down the breadth of his back to his narrow hips.

“Want you in me,” Louis said, breathless, pushing Harry down on the mattress, reaching over to his nightstand to grab the carafe of oil.

“Stay,” he said with an arched eyebrow, skin flushed hot at the sight of Harry lying beneath him, open and vulnerable and _his._

He opened himself slowly, working back on his fingers as Harry fisted the sheets and struggled not to move an inch. His gaze tracked Louis’ every move.

“Can I bathe you? After? And dance with you?”

“I did promise you, didn’t I?” He spilled more oil on Harry’s cock, wrapped his fingers around it in a tight fist, dragging up and down, the foreskin bunching around the head. Harry’s cock was flushed dark red, slick with oil and shining in the golden glow of the candlelight as Louis slowly pulled him off. “We can waltz. Know how much you like that.”

“Please,” Harry gasped out, brows furrowed as he placed his hands above Louis’ knees, caressing his thighs.

“Want to try the other one. From the book,” Louis said, his skin sizzling hot under Harry’s hands. He settled them on Louis’ hips and helped him turn around until he was facing away from Harry, back arched as he reached behind himself.

Harry cursed, breath catching in his chest when Louis held him steady and sank down. Lower and lower until he was full to the brim and stretched wide open with nowhere else to go. Harry’s thighs trembled under him, hands mapping every inch of Louis’ body they could reach.

He moved slowly, let the drag of Harry’s cock inside him spark shivers down to his toes with every rise and drop, every shift of his hips from side to side, his head dropping forward as he closed his eyes and _felt._

It always edged on being too much with Harry, like being dragged under waves of pleasure that just kept coming back bigger and stronger. Like every time he touched Louis’ skin, he was leaving a piece of himself in his wake.

It didn’t take long for Louis to come close, his hips losing rhythm and he bit down on his lip and tried to muffle the noise. He jolted forward as Harry rose up to his knees, his front flush against Louis’ back.

“Bend forward,” Harry murmured into his ear, his voice shot as he shifted them around so they were facing the wall, his warm hands guiding Louis to flatten his palms on the wall and push his ass back.

“Yeah, yeah, ugh, come on,” he whimpered, his toes curling against the sheets when Harry kissed the back of his neck and started giving it to him deep and hard, skin slapping against skin. 

His thighs shook as he spread them wider and arched his back even more, sweat slinking down his spine as Harry rocked into him. Deeper and harder, hitting Louis’ spot dead-on. The bed frame creaked with each thrust, the sheets creased under his knees, messy from the precome dripping from his cock.

The candles were slowly burning down to the bottom and Harry’s hands were touching him everywhere, soft and electrifying as his fingertips caught on Louis’ nipples, trailed down from his chest to his belly, lips wet and soft between Louis’ shoulder blades.

He whispered something into Louis’ skin, soft and sweet, but Louis couldn’t hear anything past the roar of his blood in his ears, the gasps punched out of his lungs every time Harry pulled Louis back on his cock.

He cursed and dug his fingertips into the wall, so close he was dizzy.

Harry’s teeth sank into the curve of his neck, ad that was it. The jolt of pain pushed him over the edge, his cock shooting all over his sheets and the wall as Harry grabbed his hips and chased his own orgasm in rough, stuttering thrusts.

He felt overwhelmed and weak, shaking as he felt Harry shoot inside him, slick and warm. He reached behind to curl his hand around Harry’s hip, push him forward so they could share a clumsy kiss.

“How does it… keep getting better?” Harry asked, kissing the side of Louis’ face, carefully pulling out.

Louis felt him drip out, the slick running down his thighs. He should be disgusted. Instead he just wanted to be filled up again.

“Don’t know. We must be really good.”

Harry hugged him from behind and they collapsed on the bed, sweaty and breathing heavily.

“You promised me a bath.”

“Just a second. My legs won’t work yet.”

Louis laughed and lay on top of him, lulled to calm by the strong, steady heartbeat beating against his own.

He still felt wobbly when they finally made it to the tub, submerging in the water Harry had heated himself. Their skin slid together pleasantly as Harry settled against Louis’ chest, arms wrapped around Louis’ bent knees.

Louis closed his eyes and leaned his head on the lip of the tub, running his hand through Harry wet hair. “I think, if it weren’t for you, I’d have been quite unhappy.”

Harry turned his head to the side, kissing the side of Louis’ neck. “So would I.”

They lay together until the water turned lukewarm. Harry coughed, squeezing Louis’ knee. “Think I need a glass of water. I’m parched.”

He rose to his feet, shedding water like an expensive gown.

It turned ice cold on Louis’ skin, like little shards of ice that dug bone deep.

He gasped and tried to shy away but there were strong hands holding him steady, hands like ice cupping his cheeks, familiar eyes so much like his own staring back at him. “Louis, you have to remember. _You have to remember._ If you don’t, you’ll—”

Louis startled awake, heart pounding, his back damp with cold sweat. He glanced down at Harry. He was still asleep, brows creased as he curled his hand into the empty space where Louis had laid.

His heartbeat wouldn’t calm down.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe bare ankles were scandalous in the Victorian era? Lbr, Louis' would have been the most scandalous ankles in all of England, bye.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A message from your local garbage writer: I rewrote this chapter so many times I could have had two chapters written instead of one, rip. But here it is! Finally!
> 
> A warning for this chapter!! Mentions of homophobia in the 1960s flashback by the end there (nothing graphic or violent happens, but I'm telling you guys just in case)
> 
> Previously: Louis' father needs to reevaluate his life choices, awkward boners are awkward and Victorian Louis would def read Victorian Harry some Kamasutra because he's Tommo the Tease in every universe.

_You need to remember, need to wake up and remember._

It was dark outside, the TV long turned off.

Louis couldn’t shake the strange sense of déjà vu, the flashes of something quickly fading from his memory. The smell of burnt candles, soft hands sliding down the length of his naked spine, laughter against his neck, his feet moving across the floor in graceful steps. Then cold. Something cold and dead struggling to latch onto his slippery skin.

His stomach lurched, the heavy weight of the blanket trapping his heat. Next to him, Harry stirred but didn’t wake, his brows deeply furrowed. 

Louis sat up, ready to bolt for the bathroom.

He scooted away from Harry, slowly, carefully, swinging his legs out over the edge of the bed, the tips of his toes grazing the floor. His overheated skin felt like livewire.

The cool air was a welcome relief and he closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump, just breathing. Was one night of uninterrupted sleep too much to ask for? Apparently so.

He got up and snuck out of the room on quiet feet, heading towards the master bathroom at the end of the corridor so he wouldn’t wake Harry up.

He was halfway down the corridor when he noticed it. The door to the music room was ajar.

He faltered and stopped, staring at the slit in the doorway. They must have forgotten to close it after they’d finished cleaning.

There was nothing inside the room that he wanted to see. He _didn’t_. So why was he pushing the door open and walking in?

It was almost funny how surprised he was when he found himself inside, looking around. 

All these months, he’d been imagining this room falling apart, the air growing stagnant, but it looked exactly the same as the last time he’d sat behind the piano. Nothing had changed. Even with the room shrouded in shadows, Louis could see as much. 

He stood in the big, empty space, his feet getting colder. The moonlight was streaking over the white wooden slats of the floor through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the long curtains hanging limply by the sides like silky skeletal hands. 

In the centre of it all was the piano. White and polished to perfection. The only thing in the room.

His feet carried him closer. The last time he’d played it, his mum had been sitting next to him on the bench, telling him she’d always protect him, no matter what.

He sat down on the bench, almost scared of disturbing the silence as he brushed his fingertips over the closed lid above the keys.

It was hard to believe nothing had changed. That no one had thrown sheets over the piano to cover it up. It almost seemed as though she could have walked in any second now, tell him that one day maybe he’d be as good at it as she and wink to let him know she was being cheeky, because she couldn’t play for shit. Her passion had always been the cello.

“Louis?”

He startled and turned around, his heart beating wildly. For a moment all he could see was a dark silhouette.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Harry said with a voice heavy with sleep as he hovered in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It took Louis a few seconds to gather himself, to try to pull himself together enough to speak. “No, it’s all right, I just… I didn’t hear you.”

“I can leave if you—”

“No,” Louis said, tried to relax. “I was just… yeah.” He took in the sight of Harry in nothing but his pants and a blanket hanging off his shoulders like a cape. He must have taken off his T-shirt and sweats after Louis had fallen asleep.

“Did I wake you?” Louis asked.

“You didn’t,” Harry clearly lied, took a tentative step into the room, his awkward feet curving inwards. “Bad dream?”

“No. Yeah.” Louis closed his eyes, tried to remember the dream exactly. It was right there, so close he could almost pull the curtain back and see, but the more he tried, the more he couldn’t. “Not sure.”

Harry sat down next to him on the bench, the heat of him close enough to make the fuzzy hairs on Louis’ skin stand up.

A warm hand slid under Louis’ T-shirt and curled around his hip. “I really didn’t mean to scare you. Thought you might have heard me walking in. I’ll leave if you want to be alone.”

Louis let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and shook his head. “No. Stay here. Stay.”

“All right,” Harry said, heaving a relieved sigh, squeezing Louis’ hip. “I was a bit, um… had a bad dream too, I think. Didn’t want to be alone. Felt weird being in your room by myself.”

It was strange to have Harry by his side like this after having woken up. Louis half expected to feel the press of a cool metal band of a wedding ring against his skin. He swallowed hard, had to remind himself he was eighteen and Harry was just a little younger and he shouldn’t want to pretend they were anything but friends anyway.

“Are you all right?” Louis asked, giving Harry a sideways glance. His eyes seemed too big in the dark, his hair a mess of unruly curls framing his pale face. 

“Feel like we’re on Doctor Phil,” Harry said, his teeth shining white in the dark as he grinned.

“I’m not quite as bald yet, thanks.”

“You could grow a moustache like his though.” Harry smiled and let go of Louis’ hip, his thumb now smoothing over the shaven skin above Louis’ upper lip. “Very manly.”

His heart sped up.

Harry let his hand fall to his lap.

“Don’t worry, Haz. Maybe you’ll grow one too one day. I’m giving it about twenty years, give or take.”

“Rude,” Harry said, pinching Louis’ thigh lightning quick. “You just wait until I grow my beard down to my bellybutton.”

“Please don’t.” Louis laughed, almost surprised at the sound of it coming out of his mouth. It was loud, jarring, in the empty room.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t want to braid it.” Harry lifted his feet off the floor, tucked his knees under his chin. He looked young and sleepy, wrapping himself up in the blanket as he wound his arms around his legs and closed his eyes, a small smile curving his lips.

“I would. I’d put bows in it too,” Louis said, his hands aching with the urge to touch Harry somehow. “Maybe glitter. Got my drawer full of it back in my room.”

“Emmy must be rubbing off on you.”

“Maybe it’s the other way around.”

Harry’s cheek dimpled. “Touché.”

Outside the windows the wind was picking up, whining to be let in.

“Do you, um… do you play then?” Harry asked. “The piano.”

Louis looked at it and swallowed hard. “I used to. Bit out of practice now. I don’t like coming in here much, to be honest.”

Or well, ever. It reminded him too much of her.

“It’s a bit eerie in here. I don’t blame you.”

“My mum used to say the same thing,” Louis said, pausing before he spoke again. “She wanted to fill the room up with stuff, but then she just… never got around to it, so it stayed the way it is. We used to play all the time. I’d play the piano and she’d play the cello.” He opened the lid but didn’t touch the keys. “She’d always tell me how well I played, even when I was little and it was more of an obnoxious noise than music. Bet it would have driven anyone else up the bloody wall.”

He laughed a little, his throat tight.

“She sounds like someone I would have liked.”

Louis let his hands fall to his lap and looked up. “Yeah.”

She would have liked Harry right back.

“The only thing I can play on a piano is Itsy Bitsy Spider,” Harry said, his smile soft.

Louis bit back a responding smile and ducked his head. The room didn’t feel nearly as empty with Harry sitting next to him. The memories didn’t hurt as much. “You should show me.”

“Lou, no, I couldn’t—” Harry’s brows were suddenly pulled tight as he turned towards Louis, his cheek resting on his knees as he watched Louis carefully.

“Come on,” Louis said, briefly touching Harry’s ankle, giving him a reassuring smile, “or I’ll think you made it up.”

“I’m many things, but I’m not a liar,” Harry said, playing along as he sniffed self-importantly and straightened up, tucking the blanket around his waist so it wouldn’t slip off, his feet sliding back to the floor. “I will blow you away.”

“You’re all talk,” Louis said, stretching his legs out in front of him as Harry’s fingers hovered over the keys. He nudged Harry’s foot with his own. “Go on then, I’m ready to be blown.”

Harry shook his head, curls falling into his face, not long enough to cover the dimple in his cheek. “You’re awful.”

Louis moved before he could stop himself, his knuckles grazing Harry’s jaw as he thumbed over the indent in his warm cheek, his curls tickling Louis’ skin.

Harry let out a shaky breath, fingers meeting the keys with a soft clang.

Louis dropped his hand.

Neither of them said anything as Harry blushed and clumsily started to play the Itsy Bitsy Spider. It was horrible and unpracticed and simple and if anyone asked Louis what he thought, he would have said it was the best thing he’d ever heard and actually meant it.

He could sit here and watch Harry butchering music all day. It was borderline pathetic.

His gaze followed the line of Harry’s long fingers, the sinews of his forearms shifting subtly under his skin, his broad shoulders. And his neck. Fuck, Louis had to bite down on the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t lean in and press his lips to the elegant arch of it, sink his teeth in and suck until a bruise bloomed.

Harry parted his lips to pull in a steady breath and Louis almost swayed forward as if he’d been hypnotized, staring stupidly at that soft, pink bottom lip. At the delicate corner.

“Your lips are so pretty,” Louis heard himself say. He hadn’t meant to voice it out loud.

Harry’s fingers pressed down on the keys jarringly as he stopped playing. His fingers slid off the keys as he turned to look at Louis. “What?”

Bollocks.

“Just that, um,” Louis’ brain was drawing a blank, “your, um… you know.”

Maybe he could dramatically hide himself behind the curtains and pretend he wasn’t here.

Harry’s brows furrowed and Louis was fairly sure the hot rush of embarrassment flooding his face could be seen even in the shadows.

“What?” Harry asked, quiet and soft.

“Your lips,” Louis’ blurted, wiping his hands on his thighs nervously. “They look so… nice. Like, soft and not… chapped.” As though Harry didn’t bite and chew and pick at them constantly like Louis had seen him do numerous times.

Maybe Louis could blame the late hour for his delirious rambling.

Harry lifted his hand to his mouth as if unconsciously, sweeping his fingertips over his lips. Louis kind of wanted to cry.

“I use, um, a lip balm? And stuff.” He paused, meeting Louis’ gaze. “Are they though? Soft?”

He was referring to the kiss, Louis was sure of it. He was also sure he was going to have to flee the room in the next five seconds unless he wanted to give away just how much he’d been thinking about the kiss ever since it’d happened. He’d even marked the day down in his calendar. He’d drawn a _heart_ around it, shot through with an arrow, because he’d been feeling particularly inspired. He was such a twit.

“Yeah,” he said, a bit strangled. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

The wind kept howling, yet it was still too quiet. So quiet he could hear his own sped up heartbeat.

“Do I have to fish?”

“Answering questions with questions is rude. I’m not saying anything else.”

Harry shifted a little closer, their thighs touching. “How soft?”

“Harry,” Louis warned, a completely irrational giggle tickling the back of his throat. “Like the bottom of an old shoe. Absolutely disgusting.”

Harry made a noise of protest and rested his chin on Louis’ shoulder. It was getting difficult to ignore his unrelenting gaze. “That’s not nice.”

“I could have said it was like the bottom of Niall’s shoe. Much worse, honestly. You have no idea the places he’s been.”

Then suddenly Harry was even closer, so close the tip of his nose brushed over the spot just behind Louis’ earlobe. “You smell sleepy.”

“Then stop sniffing me,” Louis said weakly, his treacherous hand curling around Harry’s waist to keep him from pulling away.

“But I like it,” Harry said, near petulant as he sniffed loudly on purpose. The gust of his exhale tickled Louis’ neck and he lifted his shoulder to ward Harry off, strangling his laugh. “’S warm. And buttery.”

“That doesn’t even,” Louis took a shaky breath, “make any sense.”

“It does too.” Harry dragged his lips over the shell of Louis’ ear, fingers curling around the collar of Louis’ T-shirt and pulling lightly. “You’re like a pastry straight out of an oven. A chocolate croissant. So fresh it’s all crumbly, yeah? Trust me, I know my way around pastries.”

“Shut up.” Louis laughed, his entire face burning hot, his lungs too tight.

“Lou?” Harry whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Yours are too, you know,” he nuzzled Louis’ neck, “Soft. Your lips, I mean.”

His grip on Louis’ collar tightened.

One of these days Louis was going to get used to Harry’s unabashed openness, to the way he made the weirdest situations feel so comfortable. Sometimes Louis wondered if they’d grown too close. He didn’t know where the lines were anymore. Maybe there had never been any in the first place.

He slid his hand up Harry’s bare back to squeeze his nape. Harry’s nose nudged his jaw. “Did you like it? Was it… was it nice for you? The um, when we kissed.”

He was proud that his voice didn’t shake as much as he’d expected. The question had been plaguing him for days.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice a little hoarse. “It was the nicest kiss I’ve ever had.”

“Do you think it’s because,” fuck, Louis’ heart was going to make a break for it, “you know me? Like, better than the others.”

“I trust you.” He tangled his cold feet between Louis’. “And you’re… you’re you. Everything’s nice with you.”

“Even when I take my socks off?”

Harry laughed. The deep rumble of it set off goosebumps all over Louis’ skin.

“A bit less nice, that. I don’t mind though.”

“Lou,” Harry tugged on Louis’ collar, pulling away so he could look Louis in the eye. “Come here.”

“Thought I was here already,” he said with a smile, his gaze helplessly drawn to Harry’s lips.

“No, closer.”

He leaned in until their foreheads touched and he had to close his eyes so he wouldn’t get woozy. Their noses rubbed together, his fingers sliding into Harry’s hair.

He knew this wasn’t what friends were supposed to do. That their touches always lingered too long; sometimes they just looked at each other wordlessly until someone cleared their throat to bring them back down to earth. He didn’t know what it meant, if it meant anything at all. Right now it didn’t matter.

Their lips touched, soft and damp and open, slotting together on nervous, excited exhales. It felt a lot like a sigh of relief, like ‘I’m home’. 

Louis could feel his heartbeat beating on the tip of his tongue when Harry’s lips parted under his to let him in. He kissed Harry’s upper lip, sucking on it lightly before he flicked the tip of his tongue over the roof of Harry’s mouth. Harry pressed against him closer, his curls brushing over Louis’ face, the little noise he made in the back of his throat sounding close to a whimper.

Louis felt lightheaded, as though he couldn’t breathe fast enough as their lips dragged over each other, the warm pleasure of it making his face flush hot. Everything felt too hot; his face and his fingertips and the pit of his belly. Even the slightest shift of fabric over his skin as Harry moved his hand down to Louis’ lower back – slipping under his T-shirt to touch him – felt like too much.

Louis tugged on Harry’s hair to bring him closer, heads tilting as their tongues touched, gliding together seamlessly. Harry tasted soft and sweet, his fingertips dragging up Louis’ spine, bringing his T-shirt up with it until his skin was exposed to the cool air.

He shivered and nipped at Harry’s bottom lip, ribbing over it lightly with his teeth, his blood rushing too fast under his skin when Harry groaned and kissed him deeply, slowly, with all his intense focus in it. 

Louis tightened his grip on Harry’s hair, overwhelmed. His back arched under Harry’s hand, a part of him afraid Harry would break away any second now and tell him this was a mistake. 

_‘We shouldn’t be doing this here,’_ echoed in the back of his mind. Suddenly sitting here on the piano bench felt like chasing a long forgotten memory, as though he’d already been here, kissing Harry like this with a jarring clang of the piano keys as they fell against it, Harry’s hot mouth pressed to his neck and a stiff fabric of a buttoned-up shirt under Louis’ hands.

_‘I’d rather play you instead, want to lie you down right here and fuck you,’_ sounded a voice that wasn’t his own. He could almost feel the cold sleek surface of the piano under his thighs as Harry stood between his spread legs and undid the laces on his trousers. The heated urgency of it hit him so hard he pulled away from Harry’s mouth on a gasp, shaking.

The strange, fleeting images were gone before he could catch them.

He dragged in a deep breath, their lips still so close they brushed together wetly.

The room was so quiet their breaths seemed harsh, too loud. Louis barely noticed. He felt like he was starving, ravenous for Harry’s mouth, for more of him. Every part of him he was willing to give. He wanted to kiss Harry again, _keep_ kissing him, but he didn’t know how to close the distance again. How to make sense of any of this.

A wave of euphoria and nerves washed over him all at once and a part of him wanted to burst into inappropriate laughter. 

The urge to laugh ebbed away the longer none of them spoke. 

Harry rubbed the bottom of his nose with his knuckles and dropped his gaze, his cheeks flushed.

It was tense and too quiet and Louis felt a bit like an idiot sitting here with a boner tenting his sweats and his mouth kissed raw.

“We totally just snogged,” Louis whispered because a part of him was panicking that they’d just made everything awkward.

Harry laughed his embarrassing bark of a laugh that was secretly Louis’ favourite. It made Louis’ tense muscles unlock just a bit. He didn’t know what he’d have done if Harry had looked at him with regret.

“We did,” Harry said, smiling shyly as he curled his toes against the floor. He was sitting there in just his pants. The blanket must have fallen down somewhere between the first moment their lips touched and the moment Louis realized he was chin deep in a shit creek because Harry had ruined him for anyone else.

“Come on, it’s cold in here. Wouldn’t want your toes to fall off.” He stood up, trying for casual so Harry wouldn’t notice that Louis couldn’t control his penis or his feelings at all. “I mean, it does look like there’s six of them, but I know that there’s in fact only five on each foot, so—”

“Hey,” Harry drawled, pulling at the front of Louis’ T-shirt as he stood up, smiling his crooked smile. “I do have an extra bone in my foot, you know. Not six toes though.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Louis asked, so fond even he could hear it. It was like his body was being pulled into Harry’s gravity and he had to struggle not to fall into him. He bent down to gather the blanket and allowed himself to take a step closer to Harry again.

“Here,” he said and draped the blanket over Harry’s shoulders, his hands lingering. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly, returning his gaze.

“Now, if you follow me, Mr. Styles,” Louis said with only the slightest tremor in his voice before he took Harry’s hand and pulled him along. He let himself acknowledge how perfectly their hands fit together like this, fingers slotting seamlessly, Harry’s palm a warm, comforting pressure against his own.

The sudden heat of Harry’s body pressed against his back shouldn’t have surprised him as much but he almost tripped over his own feet. 

Harry rested his chin on Louis’ shoulder, his free arm dangling over Louis’ chest. They stumbled along, ambling down the corridor to Louis’ room but Harry didn’t seem bothered. Didn’t seem aware that Louis could feel the line of Harry’s hardened cock against his lower back.

Louis blushed so hard he was grateful for the dark, wondering how he was supposed to fall asleep in the same bed, knowing Harry had liked it. Liked him. Like _that_.

They fell into bed and climbed beneath the covers, Harry’s taste still on Louis’ tongue.

For a long moment they looked at each other in the dark, only their faces sticking out from beneath the covers.

Louis almost said, ‘I love you’.

“Have you ever tried braiding your armpit hair?” he asked instead.

Harry seemed to give it a serious thought, because of course he did. He always indulged every single one of Louis’ ridiculous thoughts. “I did try to braid my pubes once. Didn’t really work out. Too short.”

“I don’t know you.”

Harry laughed, snuggling even more deeply under the covers, his curls flopping everywhere. “Maybe we should try to braid yours.”

“If I knew it was an option, I wouldn’t have trimmed.” He curled his knees up, the need still pulling tight on his belly.

“Have you ever tried, like, completely shaving it off? Feels nice,” Harry said, his eyes falling halfway shut. “Like, more intense.”

What was intense was talking indirectly about Harry’s dick while his hand found Louis’ under the covers.

“Intense for what?” he asked, even though he bloody well knew. He always had to push a little too far, toe the line, didn’t he?

“You know,” Harry said, his voice low and deep, his eyebrows waggling in a way that made Louis want to laugh and hit Harry with a pillow at the same time. “Wanking. Touching. The whole, um… the whole bit. Like, everywhere.”

“Kinky,” Louis breathed out, trying not to imagine Harry touching himself. It was a lost battle. “Even your bumhole?”

“Shut up.” Harry muffled his laugh in the pillow, his fingertips digging into Louis’ palm. “Maybe I bleach it instead.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Louis asked, curling his fingers around Harry’s thumb. “Do they just… bleach your arse hair? Or do they bleach the skin of your bumhole? Why would you even bleach it?”

“I have no idea,” Harry said, wriggling his thumb in Louis’ hold. “Maybe we should Google it tomorrow.”

“Remind me to do that.” He tried not to squirm, arousal thrumming under his skin. Not in an urgent way. In the kind of lulling, pleasant way that made waves of expectant pleasure tingle down his spine without the immediate urge to start humping Harry’s leg. “Imagine shaving all over, even your eyebrows. You should do that. You’d be like one of them hairless cats.”

“Would you like that?” Harry asked, amused, playing with Louis’ fingers.

“I’m very turned on.” The worst thing was, he wasn’t even lying.

For a moment it looked like Harry wanted to tease him, but then he just closed his eyes and ran his fingertips over Louis’ knuckles. “Do you know you’re my favourite person, Lou?”

“You’re mine too,” Louis admitted quietly. “Please don’t tell Liam.”

“I can’t promise anything. Have to claim my territory.”

“What am I a piece of land now? Going to plant a flag in me?” 

He squeezed Louis’ hand and started giggling so hard the mattress shook. 

Louis thought his own words over.

“All right, not the best choice of words, that.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said as his laugh trailed off. “Quite liked it.”

“It’s because you like me. Can’t blame you.”

Harry brought Louis’ hand closer to his chest, curled it in his grasp and rested their joined hands under his chin. His eyes remained closed. “I do. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Louis stared at Harry’s relaxed mouth, remembering the give of Harry’s soft lip under the careful press of his teeth. “You’re mine too.”

It didn’t hurt. And even though he had no idea where they stood or what they were, if Harry just wanted to remain friends and nothing more, it didn’t matter. He knew Harry wouldn’t call it a weird lapse of judgment, something to be left in the dark and never spoken about again. It didn’t feel dishonest. It didn’t feel like not enough. It just… was.

He closed his eyes, tangled his feet with Harry’s under the covers and drifted off to sleep to the deep cadence of Harry’s breaths and a gentle stroke of his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand.

*****

He was sweating under his polyester suit, his hand falling down on the bar table in an aborted movement. He’d been struggling not to keep touching the jewelry box in the inner pocket of his suit jacket for hours.

The lights were dim, thick cigarette smoke cloying the air. His lungs burned with it, his head swimming with the little bit of alcohol he’d drunk on an empty stomach. A warm thigh pressed against his beneath the table and didn’t move away.

The entire pub was filled with women in swinging dresses and curled hair and men in cheap suits, some with jackets thrown over the backs of the vinyl seats, some with shirt sleeves pushed up to their elbows.

They shouldn’t have let the others talk them into going for a drink after work. Louis was going to suffocate. The words he’d been practicing for weeks stretched and burned in his chest. For a second he worried that if he drank any more, he’d jump up on the table while Elvis crooned on in the background and say something that might get them both killed.

He couldn’t touch the man next to him, couldn’t sling his arm over his shoulder and kiss up his neck, look at him in the unabashed way he longed to. 

The men at the table talked and laughed and Louis smiled at appropriate times and tried to look interested, chime in when he knew how. He wondered if Harry next to him felt the same. So out of place and eager to leave.

He leaned in so close no one would overhear even over the music and whispered, “Can we leave?”

Harry must have heard something in his voice because his brows creased with concern, hand running nervously through his short, slicked back hair. “Are you all right?”

“Want to leave.”

Harry stood up, said loudly, “Going to take this one home. He’s blitzed.”

The men laughed and Louis made himself look even more out of it than he really was as he stumbled to his feet. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, fellas.”

“Make sure he doesn’t fall into a ditch. Wouldn’t want him to be buggered by some pervert!”

They all laughed.

Louis felt sick to his stomach as he forced himself to grin.

The words ‘they should put them all in jail’ followed him out of the pub even after they’d said their goodbyes.

The chill of winter hit him as soon as they walked out, but his cheeks remained flushed. With nerves and anger and too many feelings he stomped back down into the pit of his stomach as they walked.

He slipped into his coat and put his hat on, not eager to get ill on top of everything else. Winter wasn’t too far off.

How could he possibly give the ring to Harry now?

There never seemed to be the right moment.

“Do you feel a little better now?” Harry asked, his hand hovering over Louis’ lower back before it wilted down again, never touching.

His voice was deep and smooth and familiar, but Louis couldn’t settle, the angry buzz of energy throbbing in his temples.

“Better like this. Just us.” He kept his voice quiet, too aware of the half-empty streets. His fingers slipped off the last button on his coat. He let it be.

“I know,” Harry said back, dirty page of a newspaper blowing past their feet. A man had been killed and dressed up in women’s clothes yesterday for propositioning another man. It had been all everyone at work had talked about all day.

They walked in silence until the streets emptied out even more, the suburban neighbourhood around them dark and quiet.

“Hey,” Harry started, voice soft. He tucked all his fingers against his palm and showed Louis his thumb, pressed it into his cheek until Louis smiled. “There we go.”

Louis made a face, crinkling his nose before he bumped a responding gesture into Harry’s shoulder.

“Me too. A lot,” Harry said, their hands grazing as their soles hit the pavement.

“Come back to mine,” Louis said, his heart pounding. “Please.”

It felt dangerously tempting to be out in the dark like this with no one around. As though he could say all the things he wanted the entire world to hear.

“We shouldn’t—”

“Please.”

“You know I can’t say no. That I want to come, more than anything. Sometimes I—” Harry faltered in his step and Louis immediately followed, his body attuned to Harry’s every move to the point he wasn’t aware he was doing it until they were shuffling down the pavement so slowly they were barely moving.

“I love you,” Harry whispered. “I love you so much I…”

“You what?” Louis prompted, his hands itching to grip the lapels of Harry’s coat and pull him close. Kiss him.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and watched his feet move forward.

“I just… I wish you were mine,” Harry said.

Louis looked up, saw the corners of Harry’s mouth fall, shoulders hunching as he reached out as though wanting to hold Louis then thought better of it.

“I am yours.”

“But—”

“One day, yeah?” Louis glanced around and lowered his voice even more even though they were all alone. “Maybe in thirty or forty years when we’re old and grey, you’ll be able to hold my hand so everyone can see.”

“You think?” He smiled sadly and Louis reached out to quickly adjust Harry’s fedora so the brim sat just right over his dark eyebrows. 

“Have I ever lied to you?”

He shook his head, grabbing Louis’ wrist and squeezing quickly before letting go. The echo of his touch burned Louis’ skin long after they reached the end of the street.

“I wish I didn’t have to wait that long. That things were different.”

“I know. Me too.” Louis nudged him with his shoulder, giving him a sideways glance. It felt as if his chest was too small to contain all the words he wanted to whisper into Harry’s skin. “It’s got to change one day, doesn’t it? It’s got to.”

_I know you_ , he wanted to say. _I’ve known you for as long as I existed. One day we can have it all._

Their arms brushed. 

Somewhere behind them the lid of a rubbish bin went clattering to the ground and Louis jumped, spinning around only to see a cat streaking away from the bin, darting across the empty road. 

He laughed, terrified and relieved at the same times. “Bloody cats.”

“Don’t let Margaret hear that,” Harry teased, referring to the cat Louis had got him for his birthday a few months ago. Sometimes he wondered if Harry loved that damn cat more than he did him.

“You’re a lost cause. A bloody cat lady.”

“I’d make a good one.”

“You would,” Louis laughed, remembered the way Harry had ended up soaked up to the top of his head when he’d tried to patiently convince Margaret having a bath was a good idea after she’d got into his flour. Somehow, they’d managed together and then Harry had put his apron with strawberries on to bake cookies while Louis had watched and tried to assist the best way he knew how because he was a lovesick fool. “You’re the best one. The best person in the world.”

“Hush.”

Louis didn’t have to look to know Harry was smiling.

He wanted to knock off Harry’s hat and kiss him against the brick wall of the nearest building.

Instead he kept his hands in his pockets, comforted by the weight of the small jewelry box tucked away close to his heart. 

Maybe tonight was the night after all.

Maybe tonight he’d give it to Harry and ask him to be his forever, even if just for their eyes only.

*****

When Louis woke up, he found himself stretched across his bed, alone.

He sat up and rubbed a hand over his eyes, reaching for his phone to check the time.

Saturday, 9:03.

And a message from Harry that read: _‘Mum called, had to leave. Didn’t want to wake you. Don’t worry, I took the bus. Borrowed your clothes though. Sorry :)))’_

Louis lay back on his bed with a smile and wrote back, _‘hope they weren’t dirty’._

_‘Smells disgusting, just like you’_

Louis laughed and tried not to grin into his pillow like an absolute knob.

_‘Stop sniffing my stuff, you pervert,’_ he replied and dropped his phone on the bed.

_‘I guess now’s a good time to let you know I saw all the dirty clothes you kicked under your bed. Messy…’_

Fuck. Yeah. He’d kicked it there to make the room appear somewhat decent. Not that Harry didn’t know Louis was a slob, but still. He didn’t need to know just how truly awful Louis was at tidying up.

He promised himself he would make a genuine effort to at least pick the clothes up and put them in the hamper.

Twenty minutes later he knelt down by the bed and reached under to fish out a stray sock from underneath when his fingers dipped into something thick and cold and wet.

He startled and knocked his shoulder into the bed frame, pain throbbing all the way down his side when he drew his arm back and looked at his hand.

His fingers were covered in blood.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments fuel me like Harry's general existence fuels Louis' fond.


End file.
